I want to write. Um, yeah! That's whut yer doon!
No, I mean write. Like a story. But I have no imagination. Is that an excuse?

I'm not going to let this leisure time turn into sitting on the couch. But I'm not that girl anymore, am I? I still fear her. I still fight her. I still worry about the day that she might come back.

I feel - what? Happy. Content. Not content as in okay that's enough living but content in who I am. I'm looking forward to who I will become. I don't fear tomorrow, I welcome it. How nice. Maybe that's what I could write about. Beverly's own little Prozac Nation.

So. What came first? The chicken or the egg? Is he bugging me because I feel crappy or do I feel crappy because he is bugging me? It's just all so familiar. I even took a break from him. I hadn't seen him since last Friday when we had a bit of a tiff. But everything was okay after. But these days I'm just not liking him all that much. And there's other things, too, so it probably is me.

I finished Karl's stuff last week. I was so excited I was shaking. I was actually waking up in the middle of the night to smile. And now I'm kinda bored. Not bored. Down? Could be period related and I'm making a mountain out of a mole hill here but I feel fat and indicisive (and I can't spell) and touchy and irritated. Hmmmm. That sounds like the definition of PMS. So I guess I need to fight my way through these next few days and see. K.