Over it!

I am done with this, people. I am done with scraping paycheck to paycheck. I am done with being late for work and then putzing around when I actually get there because I hate it so much and just want to run into the ocean and write all day. I'm done with my hair not cooperating, Michael Moore in general, the fact that the highly hateable Rupert was just HANDED one freaking million Survivor dollars and nobody else seems to understand what is so horribly horribly wrong with this, emotions that twerk around like a carousel on a roller coaster, not being in Colorado, headlines that scroll across the bottom of the TV screen (I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW GWYNNTH PALTRO HAS NAMED HER BABY "APPLE" AT ALL, CNN, LET ALONE IMMEDIATELY) and this #*&damn pooching abdomen that will not stop pooching no mater how many @*#damn situps I do (I look like I'm pregnant.) I am done with toll roads. I'm done with socks. I'm done with missing my nephew's first smile and most recent crying spell. I've had it up to here (makes "up to here" gesture in the general vincinity of the mid-chest) with jockeys. I'm done with DisneyWorld, WallyWorld, and We Are The World. I am DONE WITH IT.

Most of all, though, I'm done with ovulating. Stupid ovulating!

I am not, however, done with fact that when I stomped into work half an hour late and .000001 gallons of gas left in my tank, I discovered that my boss isn't in today, and when I stomped (slightly less stompy, now) into a coworker's office to shriek about life in general, she and the guy she was talking to said, "Wow, you look great today."

Well... thank you. I guess. I'm having a nervous breakdown, yes, but at least The Rack is still stoppin' traffic.