Another unproductive day around here is more than I can take. Everyone is wasting time with the new Hellmouth, and no one wants to do anything even remotely interesting. Personally, I'm pissed off that Lorne didn't tell me how connected his contacts are. Colin Farrel is a complete nobody compared to some of the names on his list. I could be having dinner with Johnny Depp right now. I could be clubbing with Paris Hilton in London. And now that I have more options for social superiority than I ever have, I'm stuck doing a desk job at a law firm.
Life never wants to do me any favors. All I do is give, and give, and get nothing in return. No, wait. I get comatose. I get used as a rent-a-body for a higher power because I was willing to do good. It's time for that to change. I made a mistake when I stopped asking what the world could do for Cordelia Chase. My fame was taken from me once, but now, with Wolfram and Hart's resources?
Oh, I'll set things straight.
I can be famous and still have my visions. And my "job" requires so little actual work that I can probably keep that up for a little while. I'll work it in between shopping and restarting my acting career. I'm so overdue for a spree that it's, well, completely and utterly depressing. I can't even think about it or I'll start crying again.
I did that when I got back up here after lunch, and one of the smurf demons was looking at me like I was the weird one. In my opinion, if you live a cerulean colored life, and you're not allowed to pass judgement on anyone.
It's like how Spike can't make jokes about bad dye jobs. I'm still surprised that they didn't bring him back with his natural color to show mercy on our eyesight.
Nevermind, no one around here knows the meaning of that word.
Whatever. They'd probably just screw it up anyway.