Prologue

This must be the 20th blog I've started, but I'm being pressured to actually stick with this one. Some of the pressure is external (Cough, Marie, Cough) but most of it stems from being unemployed and having nothing to do except become a Yoville mogul and read a book a day. I think I'd do pretty well in Siberia as long as a kind soul provided me with a cassette deck and two tapes: George Michael's Faith and Smokey Robinson's Greatest Hits. Is it possible to have agoraphobia and claustrophobia at the same time? According to literature and my pharmacist: the answer is yes.


Therefore, I will provide my smattering (and that's being generous) of readers with a highly-detailed chronicle of the swift mental decline of an over-educated person's struggle with facing prolonged unemployment and watching everything she has crumble to an unsnortable dust. Also, I'm not exactly right in the head. It turns out that years of playing Valley of the Dolls: The Home Game isn't particularly good for you. It's like being Jack Nicholson in The Shining but chasing Shelley Duvall in Popeye. Those references will probably make sense to people over 30 or jackasses who Google everything before they respond to a question.

On a lighter note, this will probably wind up being mostly celebrity gossip and reviews of cosmetics I bought on impulse.

I do hail Santa, by the way. He has a better outfit than Satan. However, Satan has better music.

Conflicted,

Essie