Oh bird, I woke up in such a grump today. And despite being taken to brunch by Liz, and despite a delicious GIFT latte from Levon, and despite the bountifully sunny weather, I can not seem to shake it. I'm not sure what it is, something to do with feeling unheard and half-understood and blotchy and blurred and malformed and poorly spoken.

I guess I have been on the receiving end of lots of particularly bad news lately -- an endless stream of death and illness and heartache and bloody noses -- maybe that's all finally catching up with me? But none of that terrible stuff is happening to ME, in fact all week I've been thinking how insanely lucky I am to have such relatively petite problems.* Maybe I'm just one of those grotesque people who milk other people's troubles as fuel for their own indulgent dramas, yay? Or maybe it's the very idea of living in a bad, sad world full of suffering and pain (albeit someone else's suffering and pain), maybe that's what's bringing me down? Or maybe it's neither, maybe this is just a case of shameless emotional reverse-engineering, and all I need are some Tots? We'll see. I'm off to Caroleen and Jeff's for TV Night right now, and burgers, slaw, cookies, ice cream, and TOTS are on the menu. Food is coming, life is good, the view outside my window this very moment is California dreamingingly beautiful and I've got my favorite City Sneaks on. Everything is going to be great.

* My problems all being of the "What Is Going to Happen? EvanyTM" variety, a question that I've taken to fetish levels by repeating it to the point of meaninglessness over the past fifteen years, so much so it's become like my tag line, the witticism on the tee-shirt that is my life. But I was just thinking: A few weeks ago on Six Feet Under, Claire was couch-kissing this boy and he did the classic "tell me what you like" thing**, which made us all groan, because each of us has made out with that boy, the one who wants all the details plotted out on a "No Surprises" map of erogenous zones and turn-on scripts. And it occurs to me that my "what is going to happen" request is asking for something very similar from the fates, a boring, reassuring, easy to-do list. And I don't think I want that. In fact, I don't think I've wanted that for years and years -- I just got into the habit of asking for it. In summary: Be careful of the prison of personal catch-phrases.

[Note: Traditionally I would have ended that last sentence with an exclamation point, but I just spent some time rereading some of my writing, and I got a little sick on all the yelling and yaying and wheeing. Accordingly, I'm putting myself on an exclamation-point diet. I wonder how long, and low, I can go?]

** Ammended to address feedback from everybody's favorite Jeffrey: Yes, by "couch-kissing" I meant the kind of early-on stuff, the exciting discovery period when you're still counting the number of dates you've been on, when you're still not sure where, exactly, things are headed and how far you're going to go on your way there. A time when "tell me what you like"ing is the very worst kind of shortcut, missing out on a lot of great and possibly novel experimentation. A little later in the game, however, "tell me what you like" can be an entirely, mutually helpful and fun request, especially if posed and listened to by both parties. And now, off to Chico for some satellite cattle rustling with Kristin! Oh wait: And now, off to Chico for some satellite cattle rustling with Kristin.

(PS: My diary has officially moved over to my official evany.com website. Let's meet up over there!)

(PS: My diary has officially moved over to my official evany.com website. Let's meet up over there!)