Reading through old poetry from a very bad, bad, horribly depressing time in one's life can be enlightening- a reminder of what was going through one's head at the time.

But apparently, I have changed from the supposedly 'emo' young adult into my own worst literary critic. I die a little more inside (of embarrassment) when I read the crap I spewed back then. Mostly pre-deviantArt years, and certainly pre- elusiveillusion.

I don't devalidate what I felt back then, because it was genuine. I was going through the worst time in my life. BUT. The poetry. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

I have sent all Playstation controllers to mama's house, to prevent me from playing games all evening when I should be focusing on chapter plans. So far? IT'S DOING A DAMN GOOD JOB. Happy if very exhausted bunny who'll need glasses for life because of the amount she's been on the jolly old computer'm'bob.

Had interview today. WANT this job. Lovely Armenian guy who actually gave me a lift back to the train station on his way to do the banking. What a sweetheart! And he said he liked my face. Because I was cheerful and smiled alot. Hee.

Exhausted myself yesterday at my now 2 year old cousin's birthday party. Lots of food + six 2-13 year olds chasing each other and me around the huuuuge garden = *Zzzzzzzzzzzzz* The fact that I stayed awake to arrive on time for said interview today says alot for my willpower, methinks!

Ye gods, how I've rambled. I have to go about plotting Evelina's demise. Or Kobe's. I have no clue how this will turn out!

Ta Ta.