Go see Jersey Girl. Not the best movie ever, but Liv Tyler’s character is invincible and that’s neat.

My sleep schedule has been on crack recently, which explains the strange dreams I’ve been having. So last night I dreamt about a kitten, which died. Yeah. It was pretty gruesome, too.

Right, so that’s all that’s notable.

Why does everyone like monkeys so much? ‘Monkey’ is practically an epithet now. I don’t understand it. Monkeys are not funny. They are awful and wrinkly, like that one guy who died.

I have been unable to do anything at all today. I am fleshy human lump.

Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale has put the fear of God into me, or more accurately the fear of theocracy. This book is like 1984 only more scary, I think, perhaps because it is more recent and hits closer to home. Earlier I was watching Bill Maher being hilarious on DVD, and he did this diatribe on how “feminized” values in America are. Lots of things he said were true, but combined with Atwood’s awful misogynistic dystopia and the fact that I’m a little feverish right now, it’s all kind of freaking me out. Men are bastards! Eeek! (Compare with “I wanna marry a career man” of two weeks ago.)

High point of today: Merle called. She’s all adorable and British now. It is way neat.

Oh, speaking of important things, I actually saw Return of the King. Go me! Go pop culture! It’s a fun movie, though. Ghost army: coolest ever.

Mom just kicked me off Final Fantasy X. Sigh. Am zombie-surfing now.

New Orleans was not really as excellent as I had hoped. However, there was one rainy picturesque night on the Rue de Bourbon that made the trip worthwhile, I think. Still, St. Petersburg or New York are vastly superior.

Oh man, dress shopping for prom is excruciating and fun. I’m gonna marry a career man. Also, Godiva truffles are the only reason to keep living.

I finished my poetry portfolio for English, which was a good thing because now I appreciate Sylvia Plath. I was trying to sneakily read her novel The Bell Jar using Amazon’s Search Inside feature, but apparently they cap your page views at thirtyish, which is inconvenient for my budding Plath love. I especially like her poem Mirror. My real favorite, though, is Margaret Atwood — read Siren Song and Variation on the Word Sleep. I wish I could love people in beautiful wordy ways.

Took a mental health day off from school yesterday, which was maybe a bad idea because I’m still crazy. A little less crazy, I guess.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this consistently unhappy before. It’s either friends, or grades, or parents, and I suppose that when the universe exhausts all of those possibilities I’ll contract ebola or something. I now have a bile.txt file on my desktop, which I use to rail about things and people in all caps. I think that is pretty ridiculous, but as least I’ve not sunk so low as to get a livejournal.

So he visited, and that was what you’d call an incredibly good thing, only now it’s over, and I am sad. I’m going to go eat some chocolate, I think. Yes!