schizoforest love suite

Today was a feel-good, look-good day. I laughed and had confidence and liked people and learned two new tap steps and left at two to go to the East Village Thrift Shop, where I bought a belt, a shirt and two sweaters for cheap, and then ran some errands--that is, bought myself thigh-height stockings with a lace top and a stripe down the back and new underwear and shampoo. Highly important. I got back around four thirty and painted my nails and reheated Chinese food for dinner and put everything away and tried on the tights and underwear and clothes and surfed the internet for a while.

And now it's six and I have an essay to write.

I can't get rid of my MySpace. I've unfriended Tom twice. It didn't help. I can't find a "help" page or a "delete my account" button, and they keep sending me emails saying that I have comments or friend requests. I almost never refuse to friend anyone, so my "friends" aren't really my friends, anway.

Several people have said that they like my hair better now than before, which confuses me.

I'm feeling very hippie-grunge-french-Veronica.

I haven't heard from Diane about my play and I'm terrified. I hate it. I'm ashamed to own up to having written it. I wish it were someone else's. I wish I could write better. I wish I was in college. I wish certain members of my editorial staff knew how to write. I wish to go to the festival...



Edited in: I don't want to make a new post for this, but check it out:
http://www.ampleforth.net/index.php?strip_id=27
Most of the strips aren't that good, and this one's cheezy and everything, but I like the sentiment.

And Diane's going to meet with me sixth tomorrow. I'm scared!