MNF played Frou Frou this morning, making it twice in 8 hours that I'd heard "Breathe In." Happiness. Going to B&A with Laura - more happiness. Hoping to hug the mythical Sarrah. Writing (finally) letters. [A motorcycle? Rushdie? Goodness, it's getting interesting up there...] Looking up at the calendar, smiling at Ben Folds smiling back from the 25th. My life as a musical.

Post-cathartic calm isn't even lovely, just nothing at all, which is so nice.

4 a.m. Have finally realized the secret of happiness with men, and it is with deep regret, rage and an overwhelming sense of defeat that I have to put it in the words of an adulteress, criminal's accomplice and G-list celebrity:
"Don't say 'what,' say 'pardon,' darling, and do as your mother tells you."

Thank you, Bridget Jones.

(&look! Hobbes commenty box! Whee, goodnight.)

Ma poioi eiste? (but who are you people?)
Help me stay awake, I'm falling. Good morning? Not yet. Letters still owed, yes yes, return missives to a few certainly. A weekend asleep makes me all the more ready for a week of moving. A good cry late at night never hurt, either. I wish I could tell Cleo what she's in for... we'll all sympathize, round here.
Try to keep myself away/ke. (Dreaming of curry and mango.)