02.25.02 - 1:58 p.m.

The less I have to talk to Jack, the better. New policy. Probably not the smartest policy, but I don't think I can deal with much more today. Or for the rest of the week.

I find myself on the verge of tears nearly every moment of the day, incapable of performing even the simplest tasks and feeling devalued just because Evan snidely asks me to reformat a letter. What the fuck is wrong with me?

My body is pushing all its toxins out through the pores in my face. This week it's my forehead that's assuming the brunt of the stress. It's never been this bad, not even when I was an oily middle-schooler with big bangs. I made an appointment for a facial - my first, and not something I can even remotely afford - because I don't want to get on some prescription routine and maybe if they suck everything out of there, I can start with a clean slate.

My pores are clogged, my mind is clogged - it's all symptomatic of a deeper problem, isn't it?

I need this coming weekend, I need it to be a complete escape and just quality time for Dan and me, because I'm not sure I can make it through another week otherwise. I know I say this every week and I struggle through anyway, but imagine what it's doing to my insides. No wonder my pores are exploding. It's not even like I have huge responsibilities - maybe I'd feel better if I had more. It's just...oh, I go through this practically every day of my life. Why hash it out here one more time?

I want something with sour cream. Dairy would make me feel much better.

The weekend with my puppy was FABOLOUS, though, and not at all RIDICOLOUS, but quite often DELICOUS. Bassie and Jonboggs want to create a rapper whose name will be Ridicolous in the style of Fabolous, and his catchphrase will be "Haaaay...that's Ridicolous!" And they're going to make a "Because I Got High"-type song or "Like Whoa"-type song, or even a "How Rude How Rude I Say"-type song showcasing his catchphrase. Yay!

And we ate much fake meat and lamented the fact that all meat was not fake because everything would be much tastier if it were, and drank a bottle of 1996 Brunello di Montalcino, and played Balloon Fight and California Games, and said "I left my toy on!" about a million times in FAO Schwarz where I tweaked the leather nipple of a huge orangutang, and imitated llama underbites and sang Porcupine Racetrack, and it was FAUN!

And I wish I could see my sister more than a few times a year because I forget how horribly much I miss her until she leaves and I inadvertently (yet not surprisingly) break down into a sobbing cry right in the lobby of my building.