You gotta sing your heart out, sing it like you mean it
So I go to this medical center in Nashville today to get a physical/drug test and the people are all really rude to me, acting like I'm an inconvenience to them. I wait for 30 minutes in the lobby, watching person after person come and go. When I'm called back, the doctor looks like he is on crack. His eyes are all red and watery, his nose pulsating with broken capillaries. He's shifty, looking back and forth from me to my paperwork, sniffing constantly. Finally, he asks me if I'm going to pass the drug test. I say, uh, yeah, I should. He leans in and asks if I need help, like if I need to cheat. I say, no, that would probably get me into a lot of trouble for nothing. So then he starts singing "Paint it Black" as I'm peeing in the next room -- a bathroom with no toilet paper and some other person's pee already on the seat. The only thing on the wall is a little flyer with some clipart of a man getting stuck by a needle, saying "Don't fool around with HIV, get the point?"

Just kidding. Everything went as normal as could be. Except there really was pee on the toilet seat. Ew. And the wait was actually pretty long. I had to do a real physical, stripped down to nothing but undies and a backless gown. All that for a job that will require zero physical activity. I bet Birmingham paid a nice little price for me to do that.

I'm dreading tomorrow. Well, today, actually. I have to meet my design group at 9 a.m. to further develop our plans for the newspaper of the future! (Please read that phrase with a sci-fi announcer voice.) Our professor pretty much crapped on our original idea, so we've got to get cracking with revisions. And I'm the leader, but I am feeling totally uninspired. And completely without the time or the resources needed to do this project justice. I guess I need to make a sacrifice to the creativity gods. They're pissed because this week I wasted all my time on The Sims: Bustin Out. My bad.