Every dog has its day. I've been having my week. The great outpouring of giddy feedback about my fifteen minutes (quite literally) of fame, so precious for my childish vanity. I'm sure Tuesday night will be full of me screaming and covering my face with my hands.
The days are now reduced to the trial of whether or not I can make it through a whole day without needlessly spending money. That day hasn't happened yet, but I may be getting closer. I always manage to convince myself that the extravagant is the exigent, such as desperately needing gourmet coffee beans from Graffeo or real buttermilk because I can't make pancakes with anything else. These might be incidental expenditures now, but when true penury knocks on the door, freeze-dried and white bread will have to be just fine.
Nothing remarkable to report. Freezing cold. Painted my face when I could study no longer. Ate one too many of those buttermilk pancakes. Danced around my bedroom pretending to be Britney Spears. You know, the usual.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 11:32 PM
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