Well, I've been hanging out with Plern, so no time to write.  I went with her to Brooks Brothers while she worked out the tailoring she needed for a suit for some old butch who likes boring clothes. I couldn't believe the way they looked at me, like I might be something the cat barfed up on their boring carpeting. Whatever. I guess Plern's used to it. She makes pretty good money; I wonder if I could do what she does.

The barracuda called--that always makes me think about my "future." She called on Friday, and I never returned her call all weekend--I was really busy--so she called again today to tell me what a bad daughter I am, and how worried about me she was, and what I put her through, blah, blah, blah. It seems like once I put her through childbirth, I could never do enough to make up for all the suffering I caused her, which I still do, of course. She always makes me wonder what the hell I am really doing with my life. I mean, what's the point of my living? I'm really not useful to anyone, and am totally replacable in everything I do do. Maybe I should join the peace corps. Or maybe I could find a cult to join that did good things. Maybe I should move to Arizona and learn about cactus care, and become an expert. I'd like to be an expert in something besides ice cream flavors. Maybe I could be a medical tech, like they advertise on tv--not very long in school, and good pay, and plenty of jobs.  Or else an IT tech--I like working with computers. I gotta figure something out before the barracuda calls again. She's even talking about comig to visit me! I guess she thinks she owns me and can do whatever she wants, since she sends me money. Yecccchhhh. I gotta ask my therapist what she thinks I should do. I wonder if she'll tell me. Therapists probably aren't supposed to tell you what to do. You're probably supposed to figure it out for yourself. Jeez. I hope she just tells me.