Last night I started Dad's Christmas present. I picked out the ten poems I'm going to make into a book. I started picking them out and all of them were about the same thing: Dave. So, I went the extra mile and just decided to make it a theme poetry book this year. I came up with a really good title for it, but I can't remember it now.

That's been happening a lot to me lately. I'll think of something and then a day later, I can't remember it. Almost all of the things I've thought of that I want for Christmas have long since popped out of my head.

Hmm. Let's see. What else? Oh yeah. I went and got my head shots for yearbook today. I'm poor, right? So the school was going to pay for it. So I go in there and the chick at Prestige checks me in and she's like, "Okay, that's going to be a $25 sitting fee." I leaned forward and quietly explained that I couldn't afford it and I was under the impression that I wouldn't have to pay it.

I haven't been ashamed of being poor in years. I was today.

I don't know why. It's not my fault. It's not my mom's fault. It's not like we're sitting on our asses, leeching off of the state of Michigan. Let me assure you, I have no problem with people on welfare, as long as they're trying. But I've worked at Stanley's, with the drunks coming in with their welfare checks, buying half pints of vodka, for far too long to show any compassion for people who can't even roll out of bed in the morning and look for a job.

But I digress. The point is that my mom and I both have jobs. We both work very hard to have what little money we do. I should be damn proud that we are where we are, out of low-income housing with food on our table everyday. But something about the tone in the Prestige girl's voice made me feel very small. It made me feel like I was nothing, like I didn't even deserve to be walking into that place.

It really didn't help that I ran into Sarah picking up her 27 gazillion pictures as I was walking in to get my free one background headshots.

I don't know. I guess I should just get over it. *Sigh.* In a way, I suppose I'll always be the angry young poor girl. That'll never go away.

Umm, let's see. I hate Ms. LeBlanc. But so does everyone else, so that's okay.

Lindsay, Julie, and I were all making out top five lists today, in honor of High Fidelity. My top five songs are as follows:

1) Naveed- Our Lady Peace

2) Radio- Rancid

3) The Whole Thing- Bouncing Souls

4) Boys on the Docks- DKM

5) Journey to the End of East Bay- Rancid

It was at this point that I realized that I seriously have to expand my muscial spectrum, considering those have been my top five songs since about 8th grade. Time to listen to some new music.

But that's about it. That's my life. No emotional turmoil, which is a catch-22. I'm happy, but I can't write for shit these days. I try to write happy stuff, but I'm just going to have to accept the fact that I'm a suffering kind of artist. Meaning if I'm not suffering, I'm not an artist.

But I'm out, homey G.

P.S. Eight days until RK show. And my interview. My nerves are already on edge. Damn intimidating musicians.