May 12, 2002, 10:20 p.m.
I'm living with my friends this summer, and I don't have a job.
I have daydreams of getting up every morning at 9am, doing Richard Simmons and then swimming in the pool, eating a healthy lunch of fresh fruit, vegetables, and half a sandwich, reading until 4, when, while watching Oprah, I'll begin dinner for my two "husbands." I don an apron and charmingly flit around the apartment wearing pearls and everything, the very model of perfection, efficiency, and energy.
Then the startingly horrible truth hits me that not only will these things not happen this summer, but I'll undoubtedly spend it a) in bed, hungover from the night before, and b) on a steady diet of beer, McDonald's, Burger King, and Wendy's.
At the very least, in neither of these dream sequences am I forced to wake up at 5:15am to go to work, and that's a plus.