Man, my tendency to sabotage myself is astounding.

In any case, amazingly enough, I've finally been bitten in the ass by my tendency to never back up anything. I've been working frantically the past few days trying to finish a project, and when I logged into a school computer to open my file earlier tonight--poof. Gone. There was a bizarre earlier version of my file which had a different gibberish name, but the file which had all my lovely and painstakingly collected information had decided to pull a disappearing act.

I know, I know, I'm in my mid-twenties and have been through so much school and have written so many papers, this is inevitable, everyone else has his or her tragic computer snafu story to tell, so why am I acting like this is such a huge tragedy? Well, I just never had to deal with this before. Somehow I've survived almost ten years without backing up anything without suffering for it. With my file gone, I stared dumbly at the computer in complete shock for about twenty minutes. Oh, hello, sinking feeling. So nice to encounter you again. Bah. Well, at least I've surrendered to my failure, and have been spending the last few hours painting my fingernails (now burgundy) and watching The Amazing Race premiere (seriously, one of the best television shows of all time, and worth checking out even if you hate reality television, or just television...it's that good) and The Secret Lives of Swingers on VH1 (definitely not highly recommended as far as television goes...as liberal and free-thinking as I try to be, I was pretty skeeved out by the swinging middle-aged parents and their basketball-playing teenage son who probably watched his parents make out with other couples on this show later). Instead of chugging the diet soda and rubbing my bleary eyes as I worked on my project all fucking night long.

Driving eight hours to NY on 4-5 hours of sleep makes me feel so ill I don't even want to think about it. If Madonna sings "Cherish," though, the pure giddiness will cancel out the fatigue, though, I hope.

Songs of the evening (or morning?): Tracks 7&8 of the new Wilco album, "A Ghost is Born." I am so in love with those tracks. The rest of the album is pretty good, too (except for the migraine song, which Stephen just informed me about earlier tonight), but those two tracks in particular make my heart go pittery-pattery with happity happity. OK, when I start making up cutesy faux words, it means it's time to try to fall asleep again. Especially when my alarm is set to go off in about 4 hours.