SO people, well my friends anyways, are bugged that I stopped writing highly expository posts about my state of mind.

Here are two possible reasons for their displeasure.

#1 / My personal angst and confusion they regard as stellar reading material and an excellent diversion from their no less demanding and exciting lives and livelihoods.

#2/ Now that I am no longer an exhibitionist about my personal life online, I actually take up more time calling them up on the telephone and whining about more or less the same stuff I used to write about - except now I use proper names and swear more. Those phone calls have gotta get stressful especially as now, when I am usually sitting around with le petit cellulaire pasted to my ear screeching about some new school or work catastrophe.

And let me tell you this week was like a hurricane of catastrophosization.
No really, I had to make up a whole new word for it, for reals.

• If this week were a disease it would be avian flu.
• If this week were a sporting event it would be the (okay fuckkit I know nothing about sports)
• If this week were an album it would be Pete Townsend deciding to record an album of children's tunes instead of reforming the WHO.
• If this week were a movie it would be the Nutty Professor 4.
• If this week were a book it would be the sequel to Da Vincis code
• If this week had been food it would have been dog food.

That's how bad it was.

It was so freaking bad I couldn't even get a new kind of bath salt (relaxing de-stressing, hari-kari prevention, scented) because after 25 minutes in line the little weasel running the till said "Mais l'interac est casse, on prendes just le cash madame"

Also why do people buy like 12 of those 1-dollar lotto cards. What is the thrill? Do you know how long you keep the rest of us bath salt addicted weirdos in line for? Do you have any idea? It's not enough that you buy 6 one dollar cards, when you win, you only win 2 dollars times six, I'd give you the 12 dollars myself just to get you the f**k out of my line, if I could, if I didn't already know you were planning to buy a wackload more lotto cards with your awesome winnings.

Okay anyways, I started this post with some high-minded.. oh right,

To anyone I have phoned in the past 24 hours especially you dad (sorry I cried).

I am incredibly thankful for your support, but since clearly I am up s**s creek this holiday season, none of you are getting any cunning homemade Christmas presents. So love this entry in all it's flinkeyness, and look forward to your envelopes fulla giftcard glory.

The soundtrack to sadness this week? Well since my ipod sucked it for the second time (Applecare, california-speak for buyer beware) it's been quiet but I will cite;

Hours - TV on the Radio
Car Wheels on a gravel Road (the whole album) - Lucinda Williams
Radio clash- episode 98:the Come Down
Anything by Missy Elliot

I just went back and re-read my horoscope and apparently this was supposed to be the week where I kicked butt and fell in love.

So clearly there are areas in which a belief in astrology is up for critique....

Now listening to Lows cover of Transmission, it's like shoegazer but with a catchy hook.

In keeping with the Joy Division spirit, I am now listening to dead souls and trying to decide if I like this version or the one by Trent Reznor better. I am a young'un I think the version by Trent is a little tougher.

Maybe I need to go find that now.. oh god I am trapped in an endless cycle of work, bitching about work, downloading the song I would rather be listening to in order to bitch just a little better..

By the way, Gods of work and whatever out there who have clearly decided that instead of making this my week of triumph you are going to make this my week of terror, My eyes are officially burning and my jaw has been in a grimace that is interrupted only when I take little sips of tension tamer tea.

Oh yeah. Did i mention I am getting my period. Not that it's particularly relevant. This week would still bite ass.

If this week were a good song it would be December in New York by Thea Gilmore