mood swings - back, and better than ever

Oh, how I still loathe them.

I hate journalism, because I lack any ability to manage stress.

When people look down their nose at me as I subtly challenge the validity and competency of their work or the work of others, I want to pound my hands against the conference table and scream, "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR THINLY-VEILED CONTEMPT ONLY FANS THE FLAMES OF MY SUSPICION?!"

You do not want to piss me off this week. With my departure coming swiftly, in something akin to two weeks, I am freaked THE FUCK OUT. I need to grab a story every week, elsewise I am fucked thricely and not so nicely.

I'm going to the Bush protest tomorrow, and if that story doesn't run for whatever reason, I will shit g.d. bricks. It will not be pretty, bitches. Nor, I suspect, will it be pleasant for me.

I'm starving. I need to get my sad little hands on the sequel to A Game of Thrones like NOW. Before this little implosion goes any futher. I think I need to go somewhere to blow off steam - Vancouver is calling my name. Weed, hopefully still advantageous exchange rate and hot boys. Yay.

Excessive walking has left me smelling like a peasant. Only the dream of working for gawker.com fuels my desire to live - that and the possibility of getting laid, ohhh, I don't know, EVER AGAIN.

In good news, apparently blogger saved my post from yesterday, which was a lot more optimistic than I am currently feeling right now. I'll post it anyway, to express the disparity of mood swinging.