Waiting to Exhale

No, I didn't run into Whitney and Angela Basset on my way to Stanford this morning...but I am wound up with anxiety as to whether or not I'll actually be able to attend classes this quarter.
Turns out the good people at Stanford failed to realize that I have a major issue with returning. I can't elaborate just yet, but this is all very frustrating as I've been in contact with Stanford for the past six months, and this issue "came up" just yesterday. Note to self: This whole laid-back CA thing is BULLSHIT.

So I quit my job, gave up my apartment, and flew out to CA for what?! To hang out with a bunch of skinny self-righteous fucks?! I don't think so.

And I can't go back to New York now. I made a HUGE production about leaving. There were farewell dinners, cakes with candles, and even tears. Granted they were fake gay ki-ki tears, but hello, it was a PRODUCTION. I can't come back to New York with a JUST KIDDING, Y'ALL. I need to be gone for at least three months or else the vicious queens also known as my friends will have a field day about my quick return. (Look, my friends are cunts, but I wouldn't have it any other way.)
Maybe I'll actually check myself into a real rehab program. What's the name of the place that Mary-Kate went to? Canyon Ranch was it? Do they have personal trainers and a protein-shake bar? I want to return to New York with less body fat and more muscle. Think Ryan Reynolds in Blade 3.
Regardless, I didn't change every single aspect of my life in New York just so that I could find out it was all for not. I... am...totally...freaking...out.

Oh fuck me! I need a ketel martini on the rocks and a klonopin. but i'm at stanford where the closest thing to happy hour is a keg in some 19 year old's closet.

I'm off to buy cigarettes. Stanford and SF, you're driving me to smoking. Since I'm trying to stay relatively sober, the only ting I can do while waiting to exhale is to inhale a Camel and cross my fingers.