Gods. I’d forgotten how…

Gods. I'd forgotten how miserable it can be to have to get up early. My alarm went off at 5:30, and I lay in bed for ten minutes listening to loud rap music, trying to persuade myself that I'd feel better if I just managed to get up. I'm normally pretty chipper in the mornings -- I just couldn't get to sleep by 9:30 last night, so I was feeling a bit groggy. If this is what Kevin feels like every morning (he is *not* a morning person), I should tease him less. (Though hitting 'sleep' on the alarm three separate times still drives me nuts. Someone should explain to me why, if you're going to do that consistently (and after a while, you know you are), you don't just set the alarm half an hour later).

The hot shower helped, and I'm now sipping my tea, but I can't claim to be happy. Another source of frustration is my clothes -- I'm wearing my interview suit for the first day on the job, and while it's certainly a spiffy little black and white number, it's also a little tight. I've gained about five pounds since I bought this tailored thing in the spring, which is just enough for the waistband to be slightly uncomfortable, and for the upper arms to be constricted. Ick. I like comfortable clothes, dammit. They better let me wear business casual after today.

(Of course, I could also eat less and exercise. Hush.)

My hair is piled in a sodden wet mass on top of my head; it's going to be unpleasant, but at least it's clean. There are days when I want to chop it all off. It might even look good short; I've seen some short South Asian women with really cute short haircuts. But unfortunately I know that it looks horrid at medium length, so if I didn't like it short, I'd have to endure a year of miserable hair (it puffs out on either side of my head like an abbreviated afro), and I'm not willing to pay that price. Not yet, anyway.

I have to leave in fifteen minutes, so I really ought to stop babbling and finish my tea and put in my earrings and brush my hair and find my wallet. Yuck and yuck again. I'd rather just talk to y'all. I do want to say that I'm slightly embarrassed by my weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth in last night's addendum to the journal -- but I'm not going to apologize, since I'm pretty sure you guys don't mind that sort of thing nearly as much as I do. Kevin and I were talking about Austen for a little while last night, and about how she seems to hold emotional reserve in such esteem. Kevin thinks that's still pretty widespread -- I'm not sure. Maybe on some deep level, we still all respect people who can stay dignified in crisis...but what tabloids and confessional memoirs seem to prove is that we (or at least Americans) really enjoy watching people lose it publically. Although perhaps there's the distinction, between respect and enjoyment. I admit, I sometimes wonder after one of these late night sob sessions...

Will you respect me in the morning?

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