Where Would One Even Start?

My mother still needs lots of help, so I'll have to stop over there tomorrow and at least walk the dog.

Federal Express and/or our landlords messed up a shipment, so there's nothing to sell in my nonprofit/retail/office management job. And the Treasurer there is creating various pressures that I don't think I need.

My cousins were nice about staying here in Paper City, but one always feels icky about having been a poor hostess. They're young, though: they might not have noticed.

Someone damaged my car very slightly yesterday, and I went off on him. Very thoroughly. I know this person, so I probably owe him an amends, but . . . it can probably wait a bit. It was my car.

I remain imperfect.

There's a lot to be said for food and sleep.

I've decided that I should probably balance my checking account and work on my budget about as often as I do laundry—which means almost every day. Therefore, having just performed this grisly task, I am now aware that (my clients being late with my payments), I have $70 to get through next week with.

So: who votes for food? And who thinks it should be gasoline?

But I have plenty of leftovers in the fridge, and two billable assignments to get through the week. And for my birthday the husband got me books and copper pearl earrings.

I got myself two Ellery Queen mysteries and a John Coltrane album. All in all, quite a good haul.

So, you know: nothing to complain about, really.

I've decided that I deserve an iTunes binge. And—possibly a little gin.

I need external speakers for my Mac notebook, though. (I have ex-boyfriend who used to maintain that I blur the want/need distinction. This is not correct: I simply do not admit that it exists whatsoever.)