Eating: Um... life?
Drinking:Dasani water
Wearing: Jeans, black tank top with built in bra, lavender panties, eith a little sleeping kitty on them, my claddagh, green choker and matching earrings, contacts, vestiges of the day's make-up, black belt.
Listening to: *Hummmmrumblerumblerumble* It's my washing machione making contented noises.
Chatting with: Keeping my own counsel.
Thinking: "I need to concentrate on my posture more."
Remembering: Dave's tongue ring.
Glad for: My ability to move past fear into growth.
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Brief overview of recent happenings in Stasha's life:
The discovery that I now constantly smell like whipped cream, from whip-creaming about 200+ a day at work. It makes me nausause. I have no fucking clue how to spell that word.
I only have 2 days left of school.
There are 74 days until Andy leaves.
I think it is causing me to become depressed.
That scares me.
I accidently stabbed myself in the figner today with a sewing needle that went in about an half an inch straight in.
I thought I had some bone there or something that woul;d stop it, but I guess not.
Peter is no longer talking to me, and is trying to force me out of his life. Again. For like, the fifth time.
I like work mainly because it gets me closer to leaving my house.
I have a therapy session tommorow, that I don't want to go to, mostly because I need the time to sleep.
I work all this week, from 6-10:30, or 10:50.
I have finals all this week as well.
Which leads to a sleep deprived, over-emotional Stasha.
I'm not very much fun tonight.
Quote for the Entry: "Leave me alone." - The complete reply to a letter I sent to Peter.
Don't get me wrong, I am still a happy person. It's jus teasier to write about physical happenings than what truly makes me happy.
all time - is relative