9.19.2008

I should appreciate my life more.

Instead, I'm complaining.
It's the frantic cry I've heard so many times.
"Where are the caterers?!"
(They did show up, no worries)
My parents are having two hundred people over for a cocktail party. My house can hardly handle the four of us, but we're having two hundred. I guess some will spill over into the garden. Regardless, I'm being a typical whiny brat about it. I don't know why I can't just be cool with it. There is NO REASON for me to be so bitter over this. And I can't even pull the whole "Oh look at them they're so shallow with their cocktail party" thing, because it's a fund raiser for Mark Warner (who really doesn't need any more money because he's outraised Gilmore by like, ten thousand billion dollars, but it's a nice gesture regardless, no?). A noble cause. Nothing to complain about.
Except that I'm up here, locked in my room, keeping the dog out of the caterers' way. He's whimpering. I don't blame him.

Love always,
Clara

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