Feeling: whimsical
Listening to: Natalie Merchant - River
Reading/Watching: Racing Stripes - sometimes funny. Sometimes a theater full of six-year-olds.

Just when I was about to get all wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself, lost in romantic pining after the (second) departure of mon coeur to the wild and distant lands of Mississippi, I came home to my own apartment and...

He left the toilet seat up. Again.

The moment of purely-female irritation completely eclipsed any Scarlett O'Hara tendencies I might have had.

Meh. After all, I did this once before (eight days ago, in fact), so the heart easily remembers how to ache and grudgingly recover as artistically as possible. So life goes on. In the meantime, I have homework and laundry, which, as fascinating as I'm sure it is for you, I plan to do without reader supervision.

P.S. - Someone talk me out of my masochistic fascination with applying to this site. It's the blog equivalent of auditioning for American Idol- you are almost certain to be eviscerated by a dubiously-qualified, premenstrual Siskel&Ebert-wannabe whose brand of fame-whoring takes the form of being smug and cruel to the willing cattle that offer themselves up for sacrifice, but you still try it because you're just certain they won't do it to you.

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