Sleeping is for Quitters

Fuggin blogging, I never keep up.

I am an goddamn addict, and the drug of choice is Entourage. Even as I consume each episode in an attempt to satisfy my ravening hunger for more pithy insults, power lunches, and charismatic characters, I am literally famished for more. I find myself pausing each episode so that I may ensure that my supply of new content will not soon expire, downloading more episodes to fill the bottomless canyon of my enjoyment. I don't just watch Entourage - I fucking inhale it! - but like marijuana smoke, it only makes me hungrier. I feel actual fear at the prospect of the show ending, and I need to check myself into rehab.

Home from college. It's so weird - I left this piece of my life behind to live a new one at college, yet when I came back, it's like I never left, kind of like putting on a shirt I forgot I had. This is definitely some form of time travel.

I registered for classes a couple of days ago. Enrollment periods are usually around 24 hours long; each hour you spend frozen by indecision, possibilities and opportunities DISSOLVE around you. The method is ridiculous - log onto URSA to actually register for classes. Then log on to Registrar so you can actually see the classes. Then log on to MyUCLA so you can actually see your time grid. Juggle the three in order to see which classes then fit into your schedule, then telepathically discern when the exam times are to ensure no overlaps. (exam times are signified with a code, that you have to compare to a chart) All the while - tick tock - essentialprereqsreachcapacity - tick tock - goodprofessorsgone - tick tock - only8amclassesleft. The end result is a series of panic-driven split second decisions which for me means that I'm majoring in economics with a political science minor. Or declaring my major as International economics halfway through junior year. I don't know how I feel about this decision yet, I'm just kind of disgusted that I made it that way.

Also, thinking about declaring my major at the end of this year actually quickens m y pulse. Time has passed so fucking fast.

For the record, getting home on July 19th sucks. Where are my friends? If they read this: COME BACK FROM CHINA, and also, STOP FUCKIN WORKING.

4am bedtime every night, 2pm wake up.

My job search is unsuccessful. I've learned that the words "we'll definitely give you a call" mean simply this: "Fuck you. Fuck you, and never come back, or we'll kill your family." With this heavy knowledge in mind, it's hard to go out there each day and not wince as I turn in my application, hands trembling with the stress of iminent indifference. Wild Oats, Publix, and Aeropostale are my best prospects. I will be poor my entire life.

end blog, sleep now.