13 February 2003 - 10:25 p.m.

If there are in fact external forces manipulating my life, I must say that they've done a bang-up job with the checks and balances the past couple of days.

On the one hand, it's awfully hard not to sulk when one receives four rejections within two days, especially since I'm so busy with other stuff that I haven't done any of the new writing I'd hoped to tackle this week. I also managed to knock over a poinsettia with a bath towel (not a tragedy, but having to clean all that soil out of the bathtub was a nuisance), I'm frustrated that I'm not within hugging and helping distance of several close friends, and the next time I get asked to be on any committee, someone needs to whap me over the head with my paintbox to ensure that I remember why I shouldn't have said "yes" this time. (I'm working with great people and I'm learning a lot - but dammit, it doesn't change the fact that I won't do justice to my existing priorities if I keep on like this.)

On the other hand, it's impossible to wallow in despondency when it's 51 degrees and bright as high April (yeah, I know you New Englanders want to throttle me now. Take a number) and I'm walking my happy, pretty dog. When I'm having such a good day physically - good hair, flattering dress - that every time I see my reflection, I think, "Hey, that's a fine-looking woman." When I can put together a tasty vegetarian lasagna without leaving my kitchen or obeying the recipe. When there's Blue Sky orange soda in the fridge. When my in-box contains messages from some of the affectionate, sardonic, passionate, and acutely intelligent people I've been lucky to keep as friends, and when the odds are good I'll be seeing several of them later this year. . .

A word that should exist just showed up in my referrer logs: "stupidirty" (as in, "stupidirty vs. intelligence"). You know, things like not checking the garbage bag for tears before cleaning out the catbox. Or the time I watered that poinsettia with the equivalent of compost tea (at least Swoop got a good laugh out of that; the BYM simply gave me the same plaintive look as the one I received last night after he saw the state of the tub).

What the surf brought in:

Such charming things one finds while researching prospective teachers. . .

Cissa and Thistledown's entries on the art of listening. . .

One year ago: "It looks like she was reading goat recipes this morning..."