I am sitting here trying to veg and relax. Listening to Foo Fighters B-sides that I downloaded off Napster a long time ago. Really, relaxing isn’t working.

I have spent every day this week at the loft, studying for the Series 7. I personally am starting to believe that the Series 7 study materials should come with health warning labels. Today’s prison sentence began at 9am, and lasted until 10:10pm. I left the loft one time during that period, to look for a payphone to call Tori. That’s it.

When I was leaving from my “shift,” Max was walking off the elevators to begin his. We just looked at each other and shook our heads in mutual disbelief. We’re both exhausted and stressed to the limit. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so sick and twisted.

I have SLoBS over BLiSS in my head. It’s the one finance theory I’ve been heartily unable to grasp. Dammit.

I dunno, what can you say about sitting at a table all day in a big purple prison, with no one to talk to, trying to absorb completely foreign information in one pass because of the sheer volume, smoking a pack of cigarettes? I took a 10-minute break and turned on General Hospital. Apparently, since I last watched (in college), Mac has lost his Australian accent, Sonny is involved with the weird blonde chick that turned out to be Bobbie’s daughter, and everyone is still always in danger. Man, I started watching that soap when I was nine years old - when Rick Springfield was Dr. Noah Drake. Okay, did I just date myself? Geez.

I love my psychiatrist. Yesterday she prescribed a benzodiazepine for my “anxiety” during the Series 7 studying. Lovely. My personality and a highly-addictive drug. Cool. *sigh*

My pathetic life has become limited to finance and the Purple Prison, aka Club Purple. Nothing new and exciting. Maybe I’ll get a life this Spring… I dunno. It’s still up in the air.

BLiSSed,

michelle