After the day I had – I really just wanted to crawl into a ball and cry myself to sleep. It really wasn’t that bad and if I were in the mood to be honest with myself I would admit that at least 80 percent of my bad day is my own fault: I was lazy and unprepared. So, there you go.

It’s just that lately I’ve been feeling so self-conscious and let’s face it – hideous and I’m projecting all of these horrible scenarios as to why I feel so rejected right now – and it’s totally taking up all of the space in my brain. See – self-hatred takes up a lot space on the ol’ hard drive. (When I’m in a better mood – you can totally give me shit for that statement).

It’s really pathetic and I don’t want to write about it at all, because it’s (a)lame and (b) I’m too tired to cultivate my words meaningfully enough to avoid sounding like a baby.

I just feel low. Being off of birth control has done a cliched “number” on me. I haven’t really gained any weight, but my body has started to rebel by redistributing my chub to the most unflattering places possible. I’m beginning to take on the shape of …the dreaded TOMATO. My skin – ugh, it’s hard to even talk about, because while I type this, there are no less than 14 spots on my face that really need my attendance, so yeah – if you don’t mind.

Yesterday, in a fit of self-loathing, I chopped off my bangs with some Ikea kitchen scissors. I thought about just going to the salon, but then I would have to sit there, staring at myself in that awful, full-length mirror for a whole hour and I honestly couldn’t take it. That’s so bad and wrong and completely unlike me and it’s pissing me off.

Where’s my fucking power animal?

See? Now don’t you wish I’d just gone to bed like a good girl?