It's now 4:24. I am going to spend the next thirty-six minutes writing a post on how, without any exaggeration or overstatement, this week has sucked hairy donkey nuts.
The friend to whom I semi-apologized yet called on her own behavior on Monday? Never wrote back.
Work, where I am doing great things and getting great results and everyone except one fairly important person loves everything I do? It's getting more and more like Sybil every day. Tune in Monday to find out what personality we encounter today! I should start placing bets. 2-1 odds on Doting Mentor over Faye Dunaway channeling Joan Crawford!
School? Have read over 400 pages in the last four days and am nowhere near close to done. All I want to do is spend the weekend drinking enough vodka so that I never feel feelings again. Instead, I will put in a token appearance at tonight's happy hour to drink a Diet Coke and will spend the rest of the weekend reading about the British rape of sub-Saharan Africa and American imperialism masquerading as development aid in the Middle East. It would have been so nice to have been a grad student before revisionist history came into vogue. For a White Liberal Guilter like me, studying has become an exercise in self-flagellation, a constant reminder of the myriad ways in which my country has consciously and systematically fucked the rest of the world for the ill-defined goal of "bettering American lives."
My holiday in Turkey? Cancelled. The friend I was going to go with bailed on me. I will now spend Thanksgiving in the small Midwestern town where my parents live, playing host to a family reunion. Because after four family weddings this year, I'm just dying for more quality time with people who think I'm a spoiled, alcoholic, snobby, bitchy slut.
Plus, the Wolverines still aren't that great and I'm very scared for the Penn State game tomorrow, I'm fighting a cold and tomorrow I have to go buy skinny jeans, an activity sure to plunge even Kate Moss into a turgid, foamy sea of self-loathing.
But on the plus side, now it's 5:00. And I think I will have at least one little gimlet at happy hour, after all.
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3 comments:
Oh, EJ. My invitation from earlier this week still stands. If you need us, you know where we'll be.
I'm sorry about your week, your trip, everything. I wish I could take you with me to India or cancel my trip and go with you to Turkey or do something to make it better.
Sorry you had a lousy week, sweetie. Hey! You can come home with me for Thanksgiving--we spoiled, alcoholic, snobby, bitchy sluts have to stick together, after all. ;-)
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