Inner Ramblings IV

I would pay anything right now to actually have allergy medication that works without making you feel like you just came down off a bad sugar high.1

Anything.  Seriously.2

Of course, I would have to put up a charge on the medication that would be promptly paid off when I become a rich and famous author.  Or maybe I could do some sort of endorsement deal where they would let me have a lifetime supply since I am so famous.  Until then, someone get me a pillow.3

Perhaps if I just don’t think about it, I won’t be tired.  I’m not past the point where I can function; my brain is still working in its usual annoying overtime manner that makes me want medication very very badly.  I wonder what it would be like to be dumb.  I know some incredibly stupid people.  Maybe I can trade them lives for a little while.  4

You know, if I took some summer geek class I could be qualified to skip the freshman level of Computer Applications.  But I want to earn money babysitting and waste money lounging by the public pool getting roasted brown by a radiating fireball, so it’s just not convenient.  I would have to fake bake more often than I do right now, and I already carry a certain fragrance of sunless tanner with me 24/7 until about July, at which point my legs look as if I have been laying in a tanning bed.  And I’m a redhead.  No one believes that I can get a tan without just burning like roasted duck.  Does roasted duck burn. . . ? Actually I already probably have the needed knowledge to skip aforementioned computer class, but I have way too much pride to actually prove it by sitting in a dim room for two weeks this summer learning things that I already know.  5

I really need to write a book.  6

Or maybe I could win the lottery, even though I’m only a teenager.  They could make a mistake and write the check out to me without checking my age, and by the time they realized that I’m not even old enough to (legally) drive, I would be all over the news and they would just have to let me keep the money because come on, who would take 26 million away from a fourteen year old??  Then, of course, I would have a major shopping spree.  Which is what I have been dreaming of ever since I got that raise in my allowance and that job, but unfortunately now my mom does not give me an extra five bucks to go to the movies and my saving isn’t coming along quite as fast as would be convenient.  I wonder how much having an agent to promote my writing costs.  Not that I exactly need one since I’m already a little famous, and besides there are only a precious few novelists who are household names.  But I really want to be one of them.  I need to see about getting published in an anthology that’s actually distributed in this area.  I haven’t actually been to any bookstores downtown for awhile.  I always go to Borders in Colorado Springs.  Must write myself a note.7

I am so weird.  I am worrying about local shit when Noble House London sent me that letter a couple months ago begging me to send them material because they LOVED what they had seen of my work, which is scattered in various anthologies in the US.  No one believes me when I tell them that.  Of course, these are the same friends that used to make fun of me for writing.  They don’t anymore.  Well, not after they read some of my acceptance letters.  I need to quit writing about writing so much.  I need some more chocolate.  I need some more money.  But I think I’ll start with needing more sleep. . . 8

I’m supposed to be doing something right now.  I could tidy up my room, which has actually been presentably clean for a couple weeks.  I could call the guy that I have a serious thing for, but I don’t have the energy to talk to him and I told him I wasn’t gonna be home all weekend.  If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be home right now.  I would be in a different town, spending the weekend with my best friend that I never get to see because she moved over Christmas break.  I didn’t realize how much she meant to me until her house went up for sale.  I’m a little slow realizing some emotions.  9

I need to fix my favorite pair of jeans.  I have had them for more than a year and a half, and they have that skin-hugging fit that I’m always searching for.  The material is 5% spandex or Lycra or something blandly artificial like that.  I’m still looking for a pair of jeans that I love as much as them, which probably explains why I have twenty pairs.  At least.  Anyway, these jeans that I love so much are so well-worn that they have a couple holes in a few. . . not so good places.  See, if I was a famous author I could just call up the company and they would gladly make an army of these jeans for me, but at this point in my life I might as well be an Average Joe.  Except I’m a girl. But I don’t know the feminine version of Joe, so I think I’ll get off this subject.  10

I’m off to find some caffeine.11