this post is pure thinking

One minute you're feeling satisfied with your lot in life, and the next your apt complex wants to increase your rent by $120 per month, a snowstorm dumps 5 inches outside, and no one shovels anything but you, plus the windchill is -1 outside, so your fingers actually ache when you come inside and all the warnings of frostbite rings in your head, and then you forgot to write down one of your work passwords, so you can't work, and your car won't go anywhere, so you'll have to make up the hours later now.

Even if you now have to start aggressively apartment hunting again, this time probably for a one bedroom apt, at least there's the chance of negotiation. At least you have somewhere to live until the lease runs out. At least S isn't contacting you so maybe he's not going to and you'll never have to deal with that again. You know when you wish he would hook up with random girls, but know it could never happen b/c of how cheesy he is, and wish he was cooler so that he could get them, and you're not one iota jealous, that it's better for you if he never calls. Please let's start 2014 fresh.

$120 though. And it wasn't so easy to write that blog for the professional website after all. With the stress, it started out pointless, just a way to calm really, and doesn't have many lessons about writing in it at all. It's mostly you imagining you were somewhere where there are no bills and mean strangers. But that place doesn't exist. Oz isn't it. Or Neverland. Or Wonderland. One thing children's stories teach is there's always someone being mean somewhere.

There. At least I hear them shoveling the sidewalk. Maybe I will only have to shovel my small walkway now. Maybe they'll even shovel that, but I doubt it. They're gone now. That was fast.

Anyway, I half want to cry. I did want to cry last night when I got the email. But if anyone will calm me down from being ridiculous, it's my father and AC. I readily admit that I need a damper put on my imagination sometimes.  I'm reading a post-apocalyptic book where everyone kills each other on sight and the only people who survive are the mean ones. The narrator isn't a mean one, but made an alliance with one, and that's really the only reason he's still alive. I'm not even halfway through it, but I love the writing style. It's unconventional b/c everyone died of the flu, which the main character, Hig, had, but somehow survived. He said it cooked his brains though, which I believe because his thoughts, sentences just end. It's first person. I like it a lot.

"Maybe I like you.... Maybe I like you a lot." - Major Payne

Can't wait to see the new Sherlock season.