Flipped!

My assistant is me. I see all my mistakes in her, all my fears, all my misgivings, all my frustration. She cried all day today, and I could only remember my own breakdowns at M, with J, all of it. She asked me today, "Why are you always laughing?" I said, "Because I find everything funny." I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd simply given up caring a long time ago. It's just clothes, isn't it?

Whoever thought I'd have an assistant, anyway? Isn't it just yesterday I was another ridiculous college grad with bedazzled jeans? I guess, I've made it.

P is, no more, an object of any affection for me. I used to look at him during all the meetings, getting a bit out of hand with what I'd do. But maybe that was just stupid. What good is there in a man who is that much of a jerk? I get tired of his antics. Today he told off C, as per usual, setting into effect a chain of events to worry over the rest of us as we had to deal with her the rest of the afternoon. He's short, unwilling, and red faced with whatever skin disease he is obviously cursed with. His beady little eyes as he sees me, he knows enough to leave me the hell alone most of the time, I'm a good two inches taller than he is. I say hello and prance by, just as the other girls do, but I think he knows I'm laughing at him. The indignation in his screwed up little raisin of a face...

Other news on the horizon, the week is shaping up to be a good one. N says I need to go out more, I need to get back out there. I'm so exhausted at the thought of being told what to do, it barely matters what she says; however true. Isn't it ok to just live in my own nonsense a bit longer? Men bore me with their paraphenalia. Either too much or too little.

A party thrown by F next week. Not sure if I want to go. I'd love to go to see... but you never know. I enjoy that these people amuse me, and are apparently amused by me. I wonder what made him ask for me? Who knows. Let's just hope it isn't a waste. L is excited and C said she'd go along; it's so tacky he invites these people and then names a strange price. But, I guess, there is my answer. He told me he can't do fashion, I wanted to tell him what a pleasure it would be to take him shopping. Men always underestimate how much I genuinely enjoy that. And, most of the time, they do, too. I think it's a guilty pleasure for them, they smile at the racks and touch all the fabrics as if it were taboo.

Running on the treadmill tonight at the gym I realized I enjoy going. Still fat, though. The scale refuses to cooperate, as per usual. I'm so frustrated with my body I can't even think on it for fear of becoming sullen.

My hair looks good though. I'm excited for tomorrow night's dinner. The food is genuinely terrible but I love sparkling in front of all those people. I think either they think I'm strange or enjoy me, I never can tell. I guess they don't understand me, they work in worlds that imagination is not a necessary as it is for me. No idea what to wear as nearly every piece of fabric in my closet, is, as always, completely unacceptable to be seen in front of... if only you knew? Shucks.

(My assistant taught me that. Love those O. girls)

And sleep, and moisturizer, as a WASP half, a dry skin will give.

Wish me luck, wish me love, and above all, a kiss!