Daffnee

This is intolerable. Not only is my headache not going away, but I think I'm developing symptoms of overhydration and need to reconsider my career aspirations to be a corporate paper-pusher. I tried going outside this afternoon, which lasted all of five minutes; the rest of the time was spent at the desk typing and trying to be profound about Orientalism. I'm too young to be disillusioned with a desk job! Better to give it up all now and become a personal trainer, if television has taught me anything. Breaking away from the school-is-life thing might be hard, but the gym-is-life thing is something I've managed before, so why not make a career out of it? I'd take a cue from Sex and the City and become a sex columnist, but those darn morals keep getting in the way. That, and I'm not overly fond of expensive footwear or younger guys, but I'm catching up on first-season episodes and Carrie probably develops alternate shopping habits by the time season five (or whatever it is now) rolls around. Pfft. I couldn't even call home to rustle up some sympathy -- they're out having more of a life than I am! I also managed to catch the last hour of St. Elmo's Fire during my daytime-TV surfing; Rob Lowe has an earring! I know he's a Brat Pack-er and all, but seeing a very flushed Sam Seaborn with big hair, an earring (though his current hair is a bit floppy, I admit), and chatting up Demi Moore and Emilio Estevez is what I call funny. And to Clio: after a few hours of research today, I also conclude that Pete McMartin deserves a raspberry sometimes.