*headdesk*

So...reasonably good day. Fell asleep in photo. Fell asleep in chem. Fell asleep in lit. BUT NOT IN FRENCH! WIN!

Yeah, so I came home feeling sort like, "Wow, I'm too much a procrastinator to do my hw (which I still haven't done) before I go to this banquet thing tonight that I REALLY don't want to get dressed up for, but 1) my friend/my friend's mom is throwing it and if I show up grungy they might get mad and b) all the people in our drama department will be there looking shmancy and I will feel STOOPID NEXT TO THEM. WAAAAAH."

But yeah, I came home sad, and then I checked my email, and my friend Sarah, whom I love to death but haven't talked to in ages and is currently in Italy had sent me a message about how I'm awesome and why even though I feel bad, I'm the Esther people know and love. Needless to say, I don't appreciate my friends enough. Dagnabbit, now I want to send her a fruitbasket or something.

Why is analysis so incredibly irritating in school? We have to do thirty different kinds of analysis for lit, and it's only gonna get worse come college. I'm this close to analyzing myself out a window or something...like, "When Esther threw herself from the second story window, this symbolized the bathsit insanity that had gripped her because Lit 2 HN sucks. In conclusion, please dial 911." Yeah, I'm morbid, but so is my book about child soldiers and their dead friends. If I have to read that, you have to read me.

Hmmm...what else? I have playwriter's block. My genius father says there's no such thing, and he's a writer. And yet, I can't write a single word (other than this.) I mean, what am I supposed to do? Sit here listening to Dr. Horrible and bang my head against the desk?

...Okay then. I'll just do that.

"I cannot believe my eyes...is the world finally growing wise..."

*headdesk*
*headdesk*