A great evening...
...for me to poop on.
I will either be stuck behind a ghost-white computer screen for the remainder of the night, or incumbent upon my mattress. Either way, I will stare listlessly, and wonder why it failed to work as I had originally hoped.
A visit from a friend I have not seen all summer was meant to be a reprieve from the insecurity sifted up in the past few hours from the realization that I have a lot of growing up to do, vocation-wise. In sum, I've realized both that the prospects of my earning a major post-graduate scholarship are pretty dismal, and that this looks to be a very long semester. The endless starts and re-starts of my compositional life have already begun.
But instead of lighthearted escape, my friend all but admits that her interests in our relationship rest upon, and only upon, my amazingly rare ability to score minors like her liquor. I don't even get the awe-inspiring respect of being used for something difficult to acquire (like clean ecstacy tablets) or hard to find (like a candid congressional Republican) .
By the way, read this review on Rodney Dangerfield's new autobiography. It's actually kind of endearing.