| Current mood: |  pissed off |
| Current music: | 311 - I'll Be Here Awhile |
My dream.
I was just thinking today about how wicked awesome it would be to introduce myself as a writer. Like be wearing all black with a leather jacket and hot red lipstick and say "Hello, my name is Daniela Slivaric. Maybe you've heard of my book [insert awesome title of a hot number one seller here]. Yes, I am a writer." That would be so smug. But so great. And I'm halfway there. The other day, the contents of my purse was this: a pack of cigarettes, vaseline, and a small bottle of vodka. That's angst right there. I've gone as far as to add a small notebook with a pen too cause that seems more appropriate. And I took the bottle out because...well, I don't want to gain a name for myself here. Well not that of an alcoholic yet.
Oh, and I think I'm going to get an ulcer. Between all the coke I drink and the little time spent with my mother, I'm on my way.
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