Whatever.

I wanted to write about how this weekend my Dad and I put together my bookshelf… and while he was looking for a screw-driver, he came across my condoms and vibrator… I also wanted to write how things got all the better when we started unpacking my books, and he shelved, “The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio.”

“Miss Curious, how can they write an entire book on fellatio?”

“Um Dad, this isn’t really a conversation I want to be having. Anyway, it was a gift,” I replied desperately hoping he’d believe that gift part.

But instead, I’m going to finish this entry with my work angst. There are so many fucking deadlines and people nagging and so much money at risk and everyone’s blaming everyone for everything. Sometimes it just wears on the soul. This morning I woke up completely tormented by the fact that I had to come in today. All I wanted to do was hide under the covers and quit everything… quit responsibility, quit caring, quit quit quit. And I’m trying desperately to find some spark left in me to renew my interest in my work - to find some sort of way to define who I am. I can’t define myself by my work because it isn’t me. But what is me? Aside from being an over-analytical dork? I mean where the fuck do I go from here? Where do I find fulfillment? Man, this is the same shit I ponder all goddamn day! Where can I find the answers already? Or how can I stop my neurotic thoughts on such subjects?