illiteracy prevention.

What was once enthusiasm for writing has now become a futile desire for sleep. Yes, sleep. Not money. Not fortune. Not fame. Not even a Joey Bag of Donuts with free queso because the guy behind the counter is creepy and thinks the two of you have a special connection because he remembers you want a whole grain tortilla instead of flour..... but sleep. I said it. Sleep. I'm going to say it again... Ready? Ok. Sleep. - Everyone seems to be doing it these days. Well... everyone except for me. I guess it's just one of those trends that isn't for me. You know, kind of like joutfits, straight As and an interest in what others have to say.

Usually my nocturnal behavior is brought on by really important events like disturbingly unsafe runs around Raleigh or incredibly substantial activities such as Friends marathons, baking and staring into space, but recently my nights have been filled with legitimate work. Uhm, excuse me. That is unacceptable. I hold tight to my inability to finish a project and my genuine passion for procrastination. Also, please take note of my impeccable sentence structure. The fact that I've had to use a thesaurus to make a complete thought every single day this week shows that I am unstable. Unstable as a social individual... not unstable as a human being. Momma, I promise. It's cool. I'm good. Everything is ok. I am dramatic. Don't fret. FBC Shebs has enough on their gossip.... err, I mean offering plate to worry about.

People in my office are yelling at each other. One way trip to Awktown, USA. Apparently I scored a free ticket. Lucky dog. Look at me. Such a traveler.

Onward.

I have klepto tendencies. I know, this is not a positive trait and I probably shouldn't broadcast it to the world... but I mean, hear me out. I steal things. Steal? Well, let's just say take for long periods of time. Most of the time it is unintentional (lie) or I return it immediately (big lie).. I should probably stop deepening the massive hole I have dug for myself right about now. Ok, great. Yes, so. Through my youth (since I am so ridiculously old and wise now) I stumbled upon some really great things. By stumble, I mean pocketed. Here's the thing though.. I take things that don't matter. Signs that have duplicates, t-shirts that clearly mean more to me than the people they originally belonged to, Bonnie's clothes, Bonnie's shoes, Bonnie's green beaded necklace that has been in my glove compartment since I was a junior in high school, chewing gum, Diet Coke from random refrigerators in Pi Phi (yea, that was me) and jokes from real life comedians because I know the majority of my friends are too fixated on generalized sitcom humor to know who the comedians are, let alone their stand-up material. That may seem like a lot, but let me tell you.. it's not. Although remorse is a common pang of mine, I would like to think that next to real live thieves that steal babies and cars and Omega Cups, I am perfect. By perfect, I mean not as bad as rapists, criminals and Theta Chis. Oh wait....

Speaking of terrible people, I have no money. Ok, so maybe I have a little money because my dad hides random dollar bills throughout my car in case I get stuck in the middle of oh, you know.. WADESBORO, but besides that - nothing. Oh and yes, he hides it... not from burglars or untrustworthy passengers, but from me. He told me where the stash was once and a couple minutes later I had a brand new pair of Nike shorts and a case of Diet Coke. Woops? You live, you learn, you hide from Stephanie. Facts of life.

Anyway, so as I cruise down Oberlin with a dolla dolla bill hidden here, there and behind a seat cushion or two, I yammer. Yes, yammer. Don't look so surprised. I am such a yammerer. "Why is Stephanie so upset?," you are probably not asking yourself. Well, let me quench that nonexistent curiosity and tell you in the least most drawn out way -- Spike Leigh. (I am really creative, I know. Get off me.) Anywho, long story even shorter, he took my life. By life I mean identity and by identity I mean just my debit card number, but if any of you legitimately know me, you understand that all of those are synonymous in the context of Stephanie's life.

I am going to stop now because I just realized I don't even care enough about what I have to say to finish this story or any other so it would be cruel to think anyone else would. If you do care, you should probably be making excel sheets, name-tags and watered down choreography anyway.

Word to every last one of your mothers.