Well, shit in my eye and call me brown.

Everybody has a bad day, right?

My dad doesn't want me to be a legal secretary. It occurs to me that perhaps I should make my own decisions and be whatever I want to be. Hm.

My boyfriend fixed his computer while he was on the phone with me. That doesn't sit quite right. He's in a funk. I'm receiving Captain Bloodsnatch. These circumstances don't lead to great how-was-your-day conversation, which I suppose is what I've come to take for granted. I feel my brain slipping into all the same well-worn neurotic places. Places I visited with countless exes and trysts and part of me, the part of me I love and am proud of, says "You know you're smarter than this. You're better than this. You're stronger than this. You're too old for this." So, I vow to get a good night's sleep and remember that I've been called to this world for something much grander than being someone's girlfriend.

Everything's in flux. I'm scared. My friends and my sanity are both scattered. Tonight's "Will and Grace" features Kevin Bacon. Must find a job I like. Or must get a few voiceover gigs. Today, in Kenneth Cole, shopping with someone I have no business shopping with, I caught a glimpse of an aging, albeit still fairly pretty woman. I thought, "wow, she should get some sleep and a haircut. And lose five to eight pounds."

And that, dear reader, was me. I'm so pathetic. But Edwards is Kerry's running mate and that's a good thing. Mr. Brown lays next to me, farting away. It's gonna be a rough night. Perhaps I'll give The Artist's Way a 14th go-around.