3/2/03/ fuck! what the fucking fuck? fuck.

damn, this diary has been depressing lately. i will now cheer you with the news that i instigated the saying of my favorite word, 'fuck', six hundred thirty-seven times in one chat last night; i said it two hundred twenty-four times. 'dick' was said only once, along with a couple of others that i'm not too terribly fond of, and 'damn' was said seven times, while 'hell' was only mentioned about fifteen times.

i'm proud of my accomplishment; and you fucking well should be too.

12:35 a.m. E
kat*~

2/27/03/ bitch and moan and grumble and cry.

oh god. mister rogers is dead. i'm still at school(notice the time), so i'm not going to cry yet... fighting tears.
yes, i am going to cry over mister rogers. don't you know me at ALL? ;_; i love you, mister rogers. i'm sorry to see you go. mr. mcsodomy will feel no more.

more griping, now. this is why i have a diary. yes. **hugs diary**

preregistered for next quarter. my last quarter, thank anything. if i go for my pell-grant-will-only-pay-for-this major, i'd have to have three more. this i will not do. so i will only persue my pell-won't-pay-for-this-for-some-reason certificate in medical transcription. (that's all i really wanted, anyway.)
i'm sick of this school. i hate staying here for thirteen hours straight. i hate these people. (thought some of them are nice, granted) and i can't wait to be done with it, and have a well-paying job, and live somewhere worthwhile, and such and so forth and so on etcetera.

anatomy class is a bitch. i'm grateful my mum is teaching it.

i haven't had any time to work on any new dolls. this i hate. my head is so full of the poor creatures that it's about to explode.
i have been lugging around my sketch pad at this horrid school, though, so that's good. there's a lot of sitting to be done between classes, and when i'm waiting for my mum to finish teaching. many little things have come to life inside it. so. school is good for that.

i miss having some lying-around-doing-nothing time. and lying-around-working-on-dolls time. i'd wanted to make a doll this weekend, had planned on it, was excited about it(how sad), but one of the women at the library called and asked me to work on sunday. i'll only have time to start one, then lose my momentum and become distracted from it and have another unfinished doll sitting on my shelf.

so this is life? working and doing things for other people and getting no rest or appreciation? not having enough time to clean your horrible mess of a house or do laundry? being so tired that you no longer care about any aspect of yourself?

i don't want it.

7:58 p.m. E
kat*~