Sample Platter - Journal Entry - Noel Bailey (OC)
(( PB: Cillian Murphy, faux-celeb ))

It's four o'clock in the morning. Dammit, listen to me good I'm sleeping with myse I'm not sleeping at all, thank you, Elton.

Ahem.

Sixth: In Which I Have Anxiety Attacks, Or At Least That's What I Gather From The Infomercials...

But I've turned those off, now because it was coming to the point where I was saying, "Darling, if that's true, then everyone in the whole world has anxiety," to the snotty looking woman on my television set. The only screens I yell things at are movie ones, and that's only during a particularly horrific horror. Or if a character is just bothering me. I haven't slept yet, as maybe you can tell, but I can't sleep so I thought I would give my brain a break from the dumb projecting from my "boob tube" (why does any one call it that? Are boobs on it that frequently?) and sit down and maybe say something of substance. Or at least treat myself to a rousing round of Solitare. Ooh, Spider Solitare, even.

Which reminds me. There's a large, black, spindly something in the bathtub and I don't want to wake Em up now but I very much have to urinate and I realize I have another bathroom downstairs, but I think the television lady was right - I have anxiety. Or at least I've been cursed with faux anxiety by this spider. Well, I curse you, in return, arachnid. With what, I don't know. Male pattern baldness. Or possibly death. By tissue. Whenever Em gets up. Because he has just as long a day as I do and I really don't think it would be fair to make him lose sleep over something quite so silly.

That wasn't meant to be a whole, long paragraph. I was only going to mention the spider.

Is it completely terrible of me to be up at this hour, still, when I'm only hours away from a concert? I must be out of the loop because I'm almost certain Em and I had nights like this during the first tour and I never batted an eyelash over it. But now it seems like I'm going to fuck something up for myself. I don't know, I'm so nervous. This is the first time anyone - current company (myself) and compatriates (Jim, Terry, and Millie) excluded - will here the album. And it's like I said, I know that I like it so that must mean everyone else will hate it. Is this anxiety? Or is this just me? I can't tell. Is that a sign? I should relax. I need a drink. I need to slip myself a roofie and pass out until someone slaps me awake and sets me up on stage in front of a microphone. I can't promise you'd hear anything off the album, then, but what does come out might be very interesting. Then, no one would be too surprised if I ended up draped over a piano, singing something that originally came out of Judy Garland's mouth. Hm.

No, that's not going to happen. Girl Scout's Honour.

Is anyone even coming? Oh, you really must. Em's going to be fantastic, like always. Come for him, please. I'm just an extra little bonus on the side, it's his show. I'm like some rainbow sprinkles on top of a cupcake. Everyone knows the cupcake is the best part. No one's just going to eat sprinkles by themselves, but if they're on a cupcake...well. That was a really gay metaphor, I'm extremely sorry. If something like that spills out again, just slap me and send me on my little way.

Oh. I remember the other little tidbit of info. Despite needing to communicate with him professionally, I am no longer socially communicating with Jim. This will go on for at least another two weeks, unless he does something utterly magnificient to make me forgive him. Apparently, since I'm "so busy" taking "irresponsible vacations" (not his words, but his transcriptions from the Higher Ups) at "terrible times", they had to make a video for "New Killer Star" without me. And James Patrick Fowler, the bastard he is, "ok'ed" this. It's HORRIBLE. I hate it. Obviously, I'm not even in it, since they went ahead and threw together something completely ridiculous without me. I don't want to pull a diva moment on anyone, but excuse me. I thought it was...well, I don't know, my song? Can't I have a say? I told dear James that the only way I would speak to him again is if he can somehow figure how to get them to destroy all footage of this and setup an actual shoot. Anything would be better than this. Honestly. I hate it. If I can find some way to load it onto the computer, I'll post it for you lovelies so you can hate it just as much as I do. But I'll fix it, worry not. Unless there's some horrible tragedy and I'm somehow not able to make something better out of spite to my Higher Ups. Then that shite is what you'll be seeing on your MTV, I guess. You don't have to vote for it on your ...what is it? Total Request? I couldn't stand seeing it there, either. If it comes on - which it won't, I'm sure, unless they ask me to come visit them (in which case I just might say yes so I'll have an excuse to be in New York again) - just close your eyes. Thank you.

...I didn't get to say half of what I meant to, did I? Well. The good news is single's officially out on Tuesday. I know, I'm cutting it awfully close with the album. Maybe if I wasn't so irresponsibly running off with my better half to Georgian resorts all the time, I'd have handled this so much better.

END INFODUMP TRANSMISSION HERE.

Oh. I should try bed again. Nothing is working. Worst case scenario, I'll take a half of one of Em's sleeping pills. And be out for a week because I'm such a bloody lightweight. Ugh. No, it'll be all right. I'm fine, really. Or I will be, once I crawl into bed. Which is warm. And occupied. Hoom. ♥