Pleh.

A couple of days with PMS–crampy, bloaty, fat, crabby, surly, feeling bad about myself, depressed.

Exhaustion from doing practically nothing all week.

No gym time since Monday–when I swam and it was SO hard.

Bitter disappointment with slow progress of internet dating.

Grey days and cold nights in my bed alone.

Another in a seemingly endless series of refreshment of heartache and jealousy.

Workdays in front of Excel, eyes dripping blood (I SWEAR, BLOOD!) from tacky crap that needs to be put into categories (fruit topiary, personalized navy hero snowglobe, precious moments wedding cake topper).

Still no sestina. Not even an inkling of a sestina. No more poetry, either.

No cigarettes. 13 days and counting…(I guess that’s good?)

All the wrong people calling and texting.

Anger at Chick Lit book checked out of library and torn through in 36 hours. The ending was predictable. Well, duh.

BUT, a cute new haircut. And a friendly email from a cute folksinger, inviting me to her show and offering a comp ticket. Could be just friendly, but whatever. I guess it’s not all bad.