I am playing housewife in the manoir prestige. I've spent my morning cleaning, brewing coffee and baking cookies. This is not part of my regular routine, and I'm thankful for that, but in this very moment I could pull every single hair off my fat head. I'm waiting for the "man" to arrive, and in the meantime I sit, pour another cup of coffee on spit-shine granite counter and light another cigarette. I make a mental note to drink the next cup black. I forget that's how I like it. I was going to write about something slightly more depressing, but I decided against it. My heart can't handle the sting, not yet. I don't know when I'll ever face it, vocalize the issues out loud or even scribble them down on a napkin. Probably never. I am anticipating but also worrying about this coming fall semester. I took two writing classes. A creative one and a journalism class. I have no idea why I decided to do so, and am very nervous about them. I am so used to writing about my life, and my wonderful self, I have a feeling that any attempt with another subject will have a disastrous turn out. On a happier note, Modest Mouse is coming August 19, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs were added to Osheaga. I am very very excited, and am going to buy my tickets as soon as possible. (Don't want another Beirut incident, underestimating their fans then finding out that the show was sold out two months before I even tried to get my own tickets.)