Journal as Confessional

[ase]

I am ridiculously apathetic about everything this week: I come hope, faceplant, then stay up past midnight online or reading novels. It's the sort of week when one might finish Anathem by accident. (I don't have it in the house; it's just the longest novel on the short list.) My to-do list is at a standstill. Apparently I invited something like eight people over for a game night on Friday; now I have to figure out how to feed them without burning the house down. (As much as I'd like to throw stuff in the crockpot before work and forget about it, I live in irrational but mortal terror that the crockpot will have an electrical short and turn the kitchen into a fireball.) Worst case scenario: I set something on fire, we order delivery, I pretend cheese pizza was always supposed to be dinner. I suspect I may be overreacting.

Also, my hair is still frizzy. I hate it. Not the little bit of dislike that makes you switch your shampoo, no: I want to spend major money on professional styling and enough product to fill my medicine cabinet until I have bouncy red carpet hair. Not enough to actually do it - yet - but enough to really regret further postponing a delayed hair trim. This is totally Slacker Week.