February 11, 2005

disjunct topics and the rolling stone guy.

God, I want to sing. You know it's bad when you cry because the girl on One Tree Hill gets to go on tour and you don't. Get a grip, Gayla. moving on.

I want some new Pumas. Yeah, fat chance. I really want the world. I want it all. Sometimes I think there are things I don't want after all, but then one day I wake up and want those, too.

Yesterday I was on th bus, and there were these twin boys and a girl who I think was their cousin. (I drew this conclusion because she didn't look anything like them, but they were all very protective of each other.) And I was watching them interact, watching the innocence in their faces, and it was so beautiful. I don't usually feel that way about kids (except for my nieces and nephews, but I'm biased), but suddenly there it was. This awe for the young spirit.

Later last night I was on the bus on the way home (to watch Lost--YAY Lost!), and I was staring at people. And suddenly I thought, "You know, if we had bald heads, we'd kind of ALL look like ALIENS." Then I started picturing it; all of us with no hair, conical heads, and it was quite funny and also a bit disturbing. Um...yeah.

I bit off all my nails again this week. Stupid stress. Sigh. I wonder if things will ever really be right. If my heart will ever feel calm and quiet and I dunno, unanxious.

Teenagers in this city are so much worse than teenagers in Texas. Why is that? Easy on the anger there, kids.

I got my car from the shop today. It seems to be OK. At least the check engine light isn't flashing anymore. God, that was rough on my nerves. It was like a bomb about to detonate or something. Phew. Makes me breathe a little easier.

Geez, I could NOT sleep last night; my stomach was in knots. I hate my stomach. Why can't it be normal? Anyway, I was still awake at 6:00 this morning. I got up at 11:30 and took a shower. Then I noticed I had a message. It was from work. They called at 6:30, no doubt to see if I could go in early. (I was scheduled from 3-11 pm.) I'm sure glad I didn't hear the phone, because I would've felt obligated, but I obviously needed to sleep.

About the Rolling Stone thing:

So aside from singing, writing is the only other real talent I possess. (You may not have guessed that from this journal, but hey. No one asked you. HA.) Anyway, I've been really thinking about going back to grad school for Journalism. Thinking about the publishing industry, etc. etc. If I did journalism, it would be magazine journalism. Anyway, one of my old roommates is a personal trainer at THE celebrity/high-brow gym in Manhattan, and one of his clients is the publisher of Rolling Stone. So my friend told him about me, and we finally got in touch the other day. So really it's not going to be a JOB interview. (Sadly.) Though I will be taking along my resume', writing samples, and a copy of the newest issue of Rolling Stone marked up with my editing expertise (uh-huh). Just in case. I may not use any of them, but it never hurts to be prepared. Anyway, the reason for the meeting is supposed to be for me to ask him some questions. Like about the industry and all that crap, so I can decide if I think it's for me or not. Etc. I want to crap my pants when I think about it, frankly. I mean for the LOVE. He's the freaking PUBLISHER. of Rolling STONE. dear Lord. Anyway, so I have a couple weeks to think about it, I guess. I'm seriously gonna die, though. Hagh. Say a prayer the morning of February 23rd at 10:00 am, will you? THANK YOU.

And another side note: there are some serious freaks in this world.

blueavenue at 1:14 a.m.

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