What I’d like is a rental, like say for three months or so, of the carb-obsessed hole where the soul normally resides in some pointy-shod ad rep monster in NY or LA. I want to care about being a size 6 instead of a 4 and my shoes not being cloppy enough, and about my tiny foofy dog looking "bummed" and finding a suitable (i.e. rich enough) husband and a house in the Hamptons. I want to be pure evil, I want to care about stupid crap and I want to make the normal myselves of the world seethe, if they had time to seethe and their time was not normally taken up with a bunch of dead German bastards who I wish I could bring back to life so that I could kill them again. I’m in the kind of useless pit-of-dread state my good friend Erin had the smarts to be in directly upon our return to school; she has now surpassed the pit of dread and is chugging along just fine; I on the other hand returned to school in serious denial, and actually "enjoyed" my first three weeks back by horsing around and watching The Marriage of Maria Braun (which is the greatest movie not to watch in the world). The only problem was that I fainted approximately once every four days, so I guess in my expert medial opinion (I watch a lot of "House" so I am a world-famous diagnostician now) I was manifesting my anxiety physically. NOW, LUCKILY, there is no more of that and I am back to my good old self, my good old stress-case panic-stricken teeth-clenching machine of a self. And I want out! Denial doesn’t work so instead I’d just like a soul transplant, preferably one that will also cause me to stop eating nachos. Grumpy! I’m grumpy. and overworked, and I don’t have any outlet for it–I don’t feel like talking to anyone here, or rather I don’t want to annoy my friends or the guy I have only recently started seeing, so hey, blog, how’s it going? I don’t have any money so I can’t go anywhere to unwind, or go shopping, and the only person I have to comfort me is Martin Heidegger. I want a pointy-shod no-soul abyss and I want it now! Gah. I’m grumpy.