When I become famous for being the richest woman alive via means I have not yet figured out, I hope to start a national trend of anxiety in young women. I want Mothers Against Anxiety Disorders to picket my very spacious lawn.

I’ll pay Oprah to put her show on for one more afternoon to interview me and have Steven Martin on banjo as a musical guest. I’ll explain — okay, you know what, my own bullshit has gotten away from me. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. It’s 11:45 in the morning and I’m looking up personal loan rates so I can consolidate my bills at a lower interest rate. I can’t do shit like this without losing all sense of reality and purpose.

I had a relaxing and very drunk weekend (get at me, future jobs!) with Brad who makes all things hilarious and full of naps. And he has a ponytail now. I can't believe how simultaneously horrible and perfect my life is.