If I were a celebrity, the tabloids would be on fire. One of my reps would have released a statement today that I voluntarily checked myself into a treatment facility (named something like "Tranquility" or "Serenity," located somewhere like Santa Monica or Colorado) due to exhaustion.
US Weekly would probably report that I was receiving treatment for substance abuse, namely my cocaine habit. Lifestyle would report that I was suffering from some kind of eating disorder related to Hollywood's questioning how thin I was (hey...if I'm a celebrity, I'm gonna be a skinny celebrity). And OK! magazine would have the exclusive from a "source close to me" that I was hiding out after word leaked that I was both suicidal and having James McAvoy's love child. Oh, and the National Enquirer would be reporting that it was not actually me, since I was abducted by aliens a few months back.
But, since I'm not a celebrity, I'm simply exhausted from a long short-week of work and wrangling twenty-one fourth graders, and one big snowball fight. So, for my wild evening out, I returned a couple of videos and picked up a pizza on my way home. I came home and hit the bed with the laptop, so I could catch up on whatever episodes I could find online of shows like Pushing Daisies and Bones. And the Office. That I haven't watched in weeks.
But if OK magazine wants to report that I'm having James McAvoy's love child, well...I wouldn't mind proving them right.
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