one sign that your day is doomed for perpetual disaster: you wake up forty-five minutes before your alarm sounds and not only do you fail at falling back asleep for the final heart-breaking minutes of rest, but you realize that you still have the (now) three-day headache lingering in the back loaf of your brain. as much as i hate getting up and immediately having to shower, or immediately having to finish a homework assignment or immediately having to throw on sweats, look my absolute worst, and go to class, i really hate waking up and immediately choking down three nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory pills and applying untaught massage therapy to my skull. but this morning, i sat myself down on the mound of clothes i've collected on my desk chair and calmly tried to restore in two minutes what couldn't in six hours of sleep.

once i finally managed to pump myself up for a shower, mostly in fear that Tom or Sam would bud in front of me in the imaginary "line" i created for our bathroom, i tiptoed down the stairs spec-less (not in fear of waking anyone, but because there are often times little black spider-ants that i can't see without my glasses on, mooching off the dust/etc. braided in the carpet fibers). today, i couldn't avoid them. i was halfway through shaving my right leg when i spotted a little black dot jogging down the shower curtain. i can't even have a relaxing shower without finding something to complete startle any sort of calmness i infused throughout my mind, body and soul. this is getting serious.

i don't like working two jobs in one day, and i most definitely don't like going to class and working two jobs in one day. i only have two more weeks of the latter. and everyday at the magazine there is one specific task that gives me trouble, which leads me to believe that i won't cut it in this industry: conducting telephone interviews. i'm great in the preparation stage: wonderful leads, questions creating an ambience that speaks for the mission of the magazine... but when it comes to performing, my mouth dries up against whatever the day's latte flavor happened to be. it's true that i have never been fond of a phone, but the first few rings before the person on the other end picks up makes me want to retreat backwards out one of these six-story windows.

well, Tommy (London Tom) and i are going to the Walker tonight, followed by a bite to eat. finally a night that won't consist of taking orders or conducting sales, and maybe then i'll have more to talk about besides house-invading pests, furniture couture and Tuesday night's liquidations.