I love that Karl used the first and last names of all the boys that he molested during prom. How incriminating.

I ended up going to work tonight although I came pretty damn close to convincing myself that calling in would have been justified. But it was okay. I came home after lunch and laid on the couch in a half-concious state while watching vh1. Then I took a shower and shaved my legs and lotioned. I drank some tea. (It was herbal tea, Ruby. I did not inject any more caffeine into my system for the rest of the day.) Then I reapplied the eyeliner and put on some lip gloss and got dressed up in my pinstripe pants (which, for whatever reason, make me feel a little hotter). So, short of being pierced and getting off, I did all of the things that make me feel better and it worked. Anna's okay.

The house kind of smells because mom was doing some baking in preparation for my sister's birthday tomorrow and she burnt the cookies that Lauren was going to take to school. Mom was quite tipsy when I got home from work, so that could be the reason charred disks of chocolate chip goodness stuck to the pan in the kitchen. But it's okay because Mom has fucked up a lot of birthday's and it just happens to be Lauren's turn this year. For my thirteenth birthday, she forgot to buy candles for the cake so she slammed a blueberry scented votive in the middle of the dairyqueen ice cream cake (she forgot to get a cake mix, too) and then all I got were nice clothes to wear to church. That's thirteen year old trauma.

I'm working myself up to ask Bridget if she wants to do something on Saturday but I don't think that it's going to happen. (The "it" being the asking). And whether I ask her or not and whether she wants to or not, I will inevitably end up feeling a little bit sad. Why do I keep doing this to myself?

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