Sometimes it is just impossible for me to go to bed until after 2am. Ack. I finally finished one of the books I've been reading. Alice Hoffman is an incredible writer. Seriously, next time you're in the bookstore looking for a new author to try or read, go over to the H's and pick any one of her books (although Practical Magic is my favorite). She's awesome. I wanna be her when I grow up.

Anyway, I just laid in bed this morning wondering why I should get up. This does not bode well.

I realized some part of me still believes in things. Like love and happiness and cheesy things like that. It was an arresting thought you know, because usually I am so cynical I give realists a bad name. But there it is. And sometimes I think I'd be better off if I weren't such a romantic, but I'm too old to change my ways now. So I'll just suffer the fate of all romantics that will never find love and enjoy my time as a crusty old maid. I'll wear purple a lot and dye my hair bubblegum pink. Save all my social security and move to England. Drink tea in the afternoon with extra cream and sugar.

I'll say words like thither and thus.

I'll laugh loudly and cry even louder. I'll talk about the good old days. Even though really, there won't be any. And I'll be able to say I knew Martha Stewart when she was just a cable host of a decorating show and not on the lamb from the law.... (slabbed up in mint jelly)