Newsflash: I don't have a job!

Ah, so this is what being a senior is. Staying up for two nights straight writing papers, stopping every 5 blocks for another cup of coffee so I can make it uptown for a job fair at which a big corporation tells me they'll take my resume but they're "not hiring but thanks for standing in line for hours on end and mmm, oh look they give me cookies for working here and putting up with unemployed college grads who haven't showered for two days." I need a break.

No wonder Jonathan sat at the bottom of the pool. If I had a fucking pool or any resemblance of a square foot of grass to myself, that is where I would have my post-graduation existential crisis. But I can't even have it because there is not enough room in this fucking city to do anything that requires stopping or heavily sighing while slowly shuffling your feet because you'll get run over by a cab or accosted by Children International people.

Speaking of cabs and since I've already said fuck in this post, I yelled at a car today that almost ran me over. I'm crossing the street with the walk sign and this car comes barreling through so I glare like "I am NOT going to stop AND my parents are lawyers." But he keeps coming and as he's passing, he looks out the window at me and says "Fuck you!" and I yell back "Fuck you too!" I don't do that ever. Never. And it was in the middle of Times Square...and I can't express it clearly now because I cut my coffee supply off, but it's something to do with almost dying while going to a corporate job fair that didn't even have jobs in the most corporate 9 blocks in America.

I get it, America, I'm unqualified. And I will die poor and alone. You didn't have to send a Lincoln Navigator barreling down 47th street to tell me that.


omg, this is so pathetically a quarter-life crisis. and i still haven't taken a shower. take this as the beginning of a Britney (but with a bachelors degree!) spiral downward...

I'm HONGREE!

This half-marathon thing may have to take a hiatus. I was expecting the mental barriers, the blisters, the exhaustion---all of which haven't proven as difficult as I thought. But I was NOT prepared for my voracious appetite. Really, I have a grocery budget.

All I ever want is chicken and macintosh apples. This healthy eating has to stop. I ate beautiful (and cheap!) banana muffin yesterday and then I was dying running.

This is sad. I don't have time to waste contemplating all this! And crunching numbers!

Maybe I'll just eat a bunch of those MegaProtein Bars with the graphics from the 80's on the wrapper and call it a day. And those gel packs too...mmmmm.

My feet are crying!

I'm not sure whose genius idea it was to have me train for a half-marathon when I don't even know what I'm going to be doing or where I'll be living in a month. It's a stupid idea, but I'm doing it anyway.

If anything, I've realized, the physical pain and exhaustion will distract me from NOT having a job/apartment (jobartment!). Likewise, the search for the jobartment will distract me from the multiple blisters popping up on both feet.

Popping my blisters with pins reminds me of playing with voodoo dolls. I think it's an omen. I should stop (running, that is).

...tomorrow I think I'm going to get in trouble with a classmate in my screenplay class. In fact, I think she's going to call me a racist!

Update on that later!

The prettiest days in New York are when I miss New Orleans the most...