01.16.02 - 5:19 p.m.

Pressing stupid buttons on the phone, which I could do in my sleep. Wondering what I'm going to do with myself and why I don't have $80,000 in my checking account like my boss does. Sometimes I hate life.

Watched The Real World Chicago last night and wanted to cry, I missed it so much. Not the people, the city. All the cast members have major issues, which is redundant to say at this point. I don't think you can make it past round one of casting without going through a life crisis or being an exhibitionist. Remember on the first New York Real World when they were allowed to have jobs of their own and people like Becky would just disappear for entire episodes? And when people were ugly and over 25? Ah, those were the days. I'd certainly be the most boring member of the current house, and I wouldn't make it anyway since apparently the group job this season is to be lifeguards. Oh. My. God. All of my childhood nightmares rolled into one.

First, I can't swim. I mean, I can swim, but it's some fucked-up combo of the dog paddle and the froggy stroke - see, I don't even know the correct names. Second, there's the one-piece swimsuit, which has always looked bad on me. I have never looked good in a leotard, EVER, except maybe before puberty when I always thought I looked beautiful. I remember feeling chunky in jazz class in fifth grade, ugly in my fuschia Body Glove tank suit in 7th grade, and finally swearing off one-pieces altogether in high school. When I still thought I looked weird but now I look back at pictures of myself and realize how skinny I was. I was TEENY! I wore, like, a size 1 until senior year!

Anyway. I would completely suck on that show and I'd say that's a good thing.

I continued the reading of old diary entries - this time from January to June 2001, and wow, was I depressed. The entries weren't even interesting; you can definitely tell I was not in a good place. Not coincidentally, this was right around the time of the magazine project. You can definitely tell the change in demeanor when I move for the summer and escape from all those people. Why do I ever want to go back into that world? Will it actually be better when I get a paycheck for my trouble?