Call Me Bree

I've mutated into a housewife. I get up at eight sharp, eat breakfast, fix my hair, tidy up my room, get dressed, pack my things, go get coffee, get groceries, tidy up some more at other peoples places for different reasons, get home, make dinner, wash the dishes, get in my pj, tidy up my room, make "To Do" lists for the next day, worry about school, read five chapters and fall asleep reading at midnight. Emily Brontë turned me into a 2007 Nelly, who does things because she ought to. I forgot how to not do things I'm supposed to do. I've got plans for every day this week. And not one of them involves being with friends or doing something generally regarded as fun. No: I'm friggin' Bree. Which reminds me that I have to recolor my hair, the red is fading into mahagony nothingness. And I need to dust my jewelry box. And I want to buy seedlings. And a straw hat like Johnny Depp. Spending the whole day vacuum cleaning and shopping for groceries makes me feel totally Amish cause I'm spending so little time with my PC.