ack

I am now almost two weeks behind, and I've pulled out half my hair, the other half is growing unsightly dark roots, and while I'm getting smarter by the day, I look like something the cat drug in and then wouldn't eat.

I need a vacation.

Badly.

Tropical. In the shade. Froo-froo drinks, barely clad young men rubbing oil on me and peeling me grapes.

I hate summer.

I'm never doing design for theatre again.

chains, phones, props, and paint!

Yes, I've been infected with the corporate style and am using serial commas. FEH. I'm chained to my desk, and with bated breath am waiting to see if I do need to go completely insane and clean and shop and water and pick up props (or more prop-erly) send my young padawan to pick up props on wednesday. Not only did I agree to this insanity before I found out I'm actualy worth my salt, but they wanted me even after taking this contract. I think I'll go mildly insane in the next week. Thank all the gods for the creation of interns.

I'm going to crawl into a cave now.

h..e...ll...ll...llllll....p

nightmare dinner

Not only do I have to attend this dinner thing, but I have to give a speech. I kind of know my lines, since I wrote them, but hell.

And I don't have all the stuff I ned to truly dress up. I hate my hair.

there just isn't enough...

...coffee in the world this morning. Too much emotional upheaval this weekend. I'm tired. Exhausted. Sleep deprived.

I'm now listening to Firesign Theatre - "We're All Bozos On This Bus". I swear these guys must have been on every drug known to humankind. Considering the stream of conciousness - Yippee tie one on! - way in which I write, you'd think I'd understand it. I've been listening to this stuff since before I could remember (which is no doubt 90% responsible for my crackedness) and I still don't get it.

It's still funnier than anything else though.