Mood: I feel like Droopy Dog. :-\
Music: You're so Vain, Carly Simon
Mind: How can I write when mind-shards are this scattered?!

I bought a scale tonight. It's all part of this whole diet thing that I'm doing. Well, guess what? It doesn't work. I bought a broken scale. At first, I thought it must have this way-low weight limit, but the box says 330 pounds. And it wouldn't work for Paul either. How maddening. So, at some point, I've got to take my broken scale back to Target to get another one. It sure as hell better work. And I don't mean that big red letters should pop up telling me how fat I am. I mean, I want bells and whistles to go off every time I lose an eighth of a pound. Now THAT'S motivation.

Tomorrow is Monday. I hate Mondays more than I hate anything else in the whole damn world. I can't figure out how this happened here. See, God creates Man and says, "Hey, Man! It's Sunday. Get your butt over here and worship me!" So Man throws on his best-looking loincloth, sings a few hymns, prays a bit, marvels at a burning bush ... whatever. And he goes to bed Sunday night secure in the fact that he's made God reeeeally happy. But then, a mere eight hours later, he wakes up and it's Monday. It's like ... eternal weekday punishment. What's up with that?

Ohh, I think I'd better go. I actually am trying to have a decent conversation with a friend right now. He's been hit by the lack-of-love bug, and I'm playing counselor. It's always been fun being one of the guys ... yet being a girl. :-D