- My name is Jennifer, and I'm an adrenalholic. It's quite frustrating when beginning your new life of leisure to realize you're not healthy enough yet to be incredibly self indulgent. Apparently living on lots of work and little sleep, loads of caffeine, occasional sugar binges, too much exercise and too little food (especially protein) can make these tiny things called "adrenal glands" implode in on themselves; mine nearly created a quantum singularity. And seriously, there's nothing like a good, old fashioned panic attack every day to get the heart racing like you've just done the Ironman but without all of the silly Power Bars stuck to your bicycle. I should be able to enjoy the fear of death on a relaxed, fun, casual basis, not with endless blinding hysteria. Now I have to amend my secret plans to include schemes in restoring my adrenals before I can set about destroying my liver. This involves nutrition, meditation and lighter exercise. I have already begun eating four times a day at regular intervals with measured portions of actual foods. It's so exhausting, but I have already ceased experiencing my rampant anxiety. This means I can do shots this evening, right?
|Hot glue burns never felt so good.|
- My scarf still didn't have enough bling. I fixed that.
|What do you mean I don't need the stirrups today?|
- Never attempt to break one's toe merely to fit a foot into a pointy toed shoe. Perhaps I could mention that I broke my little toe slamming it into a box spring that was sitting on the floor as I exited the bathroom whilst half-asleep, but that's not glamorous at all, dear fans. In order for my devotion to fashion to sound more impressive, I will claim the first story as truth and add that I subconsciously did it on purpose since I was bored.
- I don't know anything about soccer. Silly me, I thought you were supposed to hold onto your best players and build from the back, but have good service from your midfield that connects with your strikers, and then you actually score goals while keeping out your opponents'. I have this thing all wrong, apparently. Good. I actually have no need to be smart at anything anymore.
- Michael Phelps was the only person at the Olympics. Wait a minute, I'm wrong. Costas and Seacrest were there, too.
- Feral cats like to abandon their runts in my yard. One precious mama had six children on my covered patio, and only took four of them with her when she moved house. The other two were left behind and by my observation she did not attend to them. She returned at one point and watched them cry, but left again without them. They became increasingly sad and lethargic, and had been neglected for 24 hours when I finally went to retrieve them; I believed they couldn't wait any longer. I now have the most wonderfully erratic sleep schedule and the constant pleasant aroma of kitten milk replacer about me, but it's all worth it knowing that I can eventually provide a couple of chic accessories for someone. I raised my own dear grey boy Broots by bottle 13 years ago when his mother left him in the front garden and was then hit by a car. He is currently too big to fit in a bag smaller than a rolling duffel so I need to put him on Atkins or The Zone. Right now, the new ones could fit in a clutch.
|Manipulative attention whores.|