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a bit draggy
May 08, 2006, 5:28 P.M.

The dawn hit me like a two-by four this morning. Wait�that was Raji, jumping into my bed for a cuddle, just as the alarm went off.

I know I slept heavily, with lots of dreams, and I know I slept from 9:30 till 4:45. And I know I barely moved, because I slept with my cheek an my hand for long enough to leave a mark I could still see at 8:00.

But despite sleeping like a corpse, I feel remarkably sluggish today. Not a surprise, I guess, considering how much I got done over the weekend, and how little I�ve gotten used to doing.

I�ve been doing my breathing and stretching to try and energize myself all day, but it only helps for a few minutes before I feel all droopy again.



I actually broke out the pink this morning, in an effort to perk myself up. Hot pink shirt, and my pink earrings, necklace, bracelet, and even my pink ring. It didn�t energize me, but it felt kind of good, nonetheless. Pink is a confidence color for me, and I seem to have a good day if I�m wearing it.


I started reading a novel I picked up at the library the other day, because one can only spend so much time reading self-help stuff. This novel is called "Suspense and Sensibility, Or, First Impressions Revisited", and is billed as �A Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mystery�

Yes. That Mr. And Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth (nee Bennett) and Fitzwilliam themselves. Apparently there are several of these.

As an Austen lover, I�m appalled. Horrified, and yet strangely drawn to this prospect. I have read any number of Sherlock Holmes pastiches, and never felt mortally offended. (Well, never by the idea. Often the writing, but never the idea.) So why do I suffer this particular horror? Certainly the author, Carrie Bebris, is no Austen. So the writing, while directly inviting comparison to the original, can only suffer by it.

And, too�this novel seems to be equal parts mystery, romance, and gothic thriller. Too many genres spoil the soup, I think.
And at least one of those genres was distasteful to Miss Austen herself, judging by one of my favorite quotations.


"I could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance under any other motive than to save my life; and if it were indispensable for me to keep it up and never relax into laughing at myself or other people, I am sure I should be hung before I had finished the first chapter�

And I don�t care for the suspense stuff.
And the mystery is sub-par, to my standards.
So I�m afraid I really don�t like this book.

But I�m still going to finish it.



One of the things about being so busy outside this weekend was being the last to know our home phone was kerflooey. JR called on the cell to let us know, and Spouse found out when he checked his messages.

I can't really complain. It made for a quiet Sunday, Spouse got quick and quality service from SBC (the technician fixed the problem today), they performed some routine upgrades, the problem was outside the house, so we don't have to pay (squirrel chewed through the line), and my dog has a new best friend.

Yeah, Spouse called me at work today to report that Raj is in love with the telephone repairman. Apparently, he's a big dog lover, and was petting her and roughhousing and throwing the ball with her out in the yard. So she thinks he's a god.

She is such a flirt.



I have a whole list of positive action-type thingys I want to do tonight, but seriously? I'm limp as a dishrag. I think I'll be taking them one at a time...



Reading: "Feeling Good", by David Burns, and "Suspense and Sensibility, Or, First Impressions Revisited", by Carrie Bebris.


Listening: Cd. �M.U.�The Best of Jethro Tull.


Beading: A DNA Spiral, using pink delica beads with a silk luster finish.


One Year Ago, was uh�raggy.

At Random: click here


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