Desperation

I have a pounding headache and my entire family and I are crammed into this goddamn hotel room. Every single one of them is snoring like a velociraptor, which means I get to stay up all night or sleep on the fucking balcony. I am inches away from smothering myself with my pillow or hurling this laptop through the blurry TV. As good a time as any for a blog.

I am so tired I could drop. There is no ear plug strong enough to block out my dad's snoring. Inkpop Idiots are as exasperating as ever and I am getting nowhere with anything. I don't like any of my Facebook friends that are online so it's not like I can talk to any of them. Stupid conservative aunt stopping me from seeing La Cage and wants to talk to my mother about keeping me away from Emerson cause she's afraid I'll turn into a lesbian. Maybe if I sit here and stare enough daggers at my father he will wake up and be quiet for the first time in three hours. I am angry. So angry. This laptop has no sound. No more Pretty Little Liars episodes until January. No more Syliva Plath books until ever.

God help me, I am never getting married. I like myself far too much for that. Plus I've been told I'm too crazy to ever get married. Son of a bitch, that's true.

You know who I hate? The women on the Real Housewives of New Jersey. All they ever do is try to rip each other's hair out. Whatever happened to class - yeah, you won't find it with me. Someday I will learn to dance like Gwen Verdon, act like Judi Dench and sing like Christine Ebersole. It's only a thought. Maybe then I would be able to get my own son of a bitching hotel room.

I get to meet Bill Clinton on Friday through work. I do not plan on telling him I am an intern.

Someone on inkpop wants to commit literary suicide, and I just realized I have absolutely no reason to tell them they shouldn't. Because really, I think they just should. There is nothing good on that site - just stress and never ending frustration. I don't remember the last time I had fun there. We're all competing for a pat on the head from some Harper Collins editor who isn't going to tell us anything we don't already know.