Grad school. It feels strange saying it. It seemed to have meshed fairly well into my life, quietly eating my gym and Shaolin time. But eventually we'll get to the point where both will happen again.
Modeling's dried up. Non-existent. I think the universe is calling me an ugly nerd.
"GO BACK TO YOUR BOOKS NERD"
"But...but...I totes just bought mascara for the first time..."
Oh? About the mascara? It doesn't smear when I wipe my eyes (like I do constantly at work) but it doesn't look as good as my eyelashes by themselves. Not like any of this is really even important. I have a drawer full of high end make up (almost nothing but MAC and Iman) that I never wear, but when I sit on the toilet and open the drawer and I just look at them and think, "Well, maybe under all of this, there's a professional looking woman in there." I told myself it was an investment, a foot in the door of being a professor. Not really. I don't know why. It's like some weird compulsion. Like, one of those "When I grow up" imaginings, but at 26, how much growing up is left?
My silver phallic amulet is amazing.
Not really writing. Except for school. Someone inspire me. Give me a prompt and I will write you a story. Please.
If I get a tablet, I'm humoring writing about my grad school adventures. Or lack thereof. Or, just the life of being THAT student.