I've had a taste of the pilot, and I'm salivating for more.

I was hanging with a friend yesterday. She asked what I wanted to do, so being perpetually broke, I suggested that I come to her place baring "Amelie" and "Payback" for us to watch. She's got a boyfriend, she's straight, but he's a truck driver who's away so often that she gets lonely and needs company. I almost considered taking the bus in this nasty weather, but she offered to drive all the way to my place to pick me up. It took her longer, because she got lost in the darkness with the amount of snow blocking her view from seeing where the hell she was going. She also hated cooking for one so often, so she made us some rice cooked in a broth (I think it was chicken broth!) and some broccoli!

I love broccoli!

Anyway, I kept her company, along with her cat Frisky, and before she drove me back home, she remembered a conversation we had months ago: she'd gotten a leather jacket from a friend who was about to donate it to charity, but my friend saw how cool it was, and envisioned me wearing it. As she pulls it out, I fell in love with it.

I know, I know, bad vegan! The nightmares will keep me up nights with ghosts of dead animals haunting me, judging me, saying, "Won't eat dead animal but doesn't mind wearing it on her back. For shame, for shame...."

I have to admit: I love leather jackets. I don't have a leather fetish or anything, but this jacket wasn't your typical black leather motorcycle jacket either. It was brown, designed like a blazer. I love those types! It had this cool abstract sewing job, held together with leather stitching. The only problem is that it's a little small on me. My shoulders are small, so it fits them perfectly, whereas my sleeves are a bit short. I could wear a long enough shirt that sticks out and adds to it. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

Tomorrow is my first rehearsal for the monologues. I'm excited, but also trying to prepare myself for the challenge. The rehearsal process can get painful and tedious at times. I hate not having my lines down, yet they're so frustrating to work on. I want to get them out of the way.

I'm also getting my cold back again. I swear, it's like a cloud that lifted above my head, tricking my into feeling better, but has descended again. It's the same cloud that hovered over my parents when they had it. We just keep passing it between each other. I keep sneezing all over myself, almost blowing out a nostril doing so. My nose hairs hurt.

I think about my present, I think about my past, and I can't see the future: Imagine if I weren't taking St. John's Wort? I wish I had the life I wanted in my twenties already: a relationship, a career and a home. I hate the idea of looking for love, looking for employment, looking for a life, for happiness. There's a part of me that's worn out, that's run low on energy to pursue anything. What motivation I needed is flaccid. That's how I feel all over, inside and out: flaccid. I'm only looking forward to this play, other than that, I could stay indoors and be a shut-in for all I care. Visit my younger brother on Sundays to tape "The L Word", then watch TV the other 6 days of the week.

Maybe motivation won't come to me.

Maybe this is my life for another 10 years or so.