March 15, 1999.

My soap's gone AWOL.

I'm not sure if this is the last straw in good roommate relations, or simply the universe laughing at me. It sounds stupid, but when I looked into the puzzlingly empty dish, I started frothing at the mouth. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately (thank you, darling roommate), and I'm getting closer and closer to the edge. Last night I cried for 2 hours, finally overflowing with the pent-up frustration of an entirely too-wakeful week. The most pestilent rat has a secure little rathole in which to lay their little ratty head. I have no haven. I have a few precious snatched hours of silence during the evening, and I have an insipid lullabye of latenight programming to keep me on the edge of sleep until the anger wears me out & I drop into a thin little sleep.

Friends, people who study this sort of thing often remark that sleep dep is an incredibly effective torture device. If I don't get 10 clear hours soon, I'm afraid of going postal.

So my soap better come back from whatever soap party it's been invited to real soon, or I'll be ultra-super-pissed.

More after I've had a few cleansing breaths.

I don't think there's any more I want to commit to posterity. My misanthropy's acting up again, like a trick knee. Most of today's events were either boring or irritating, with the sole exception of a fabulous chicken club sandwich. I've decided to get off the stupid diet and eat real meals again. A lot of unrest is caused by low blood sugar you know. Personally, I can go from zero to tears in 15 seconds when I'm hungry all the time.

And just to balance my declared misanthropy a bit, you should also know that I go through whole days of nothing but infatuation with every member of the human race, hours when every face seems alight with beauty and intrinsic worth. Just not lately.