Girlwich

Some days you really just don't know which end is up, do you? I had this whole huge raging post written, and heck, I even posted it - for about 15 minutes - and then took it down.

I think it was one of those letters you need to write for your own sake but not necessarily send to the person to whom it's (mostly) addressed.

I had a terrible day. Let us leave it at that. Such a terrible day. I tried, I really did, to reclaim it from the swamp that it insisted upon occupying. Nothing would save such a day. Not hummus with Annabelle. Not two very cute, oh-so-young waiters. (Annabelle pointed out their youth to me - I hadn't noticed. I am bad. The Artist Formerly Known as Boywich is five years younger than me.)

Not a fast, furious walk before going home. Not a spate of silly pictures of me and the cat. Well, my knitting and the cat, anyway. Not knitting a big plouffy orange sweater out of merino.

Not an espresso. (Though that did help the migraine aspect.)

No. Nothing could save this day. This day that started with a bad dream followed by a migraine, and then progressed (in rapid succession, to my increasing dumbfoundment and consternation - how's that for two SAT words in one parenthetical aside?) to someone stealing my just-dropped Metrocard, and then me narrowly avoiding walking through (god I hope I managed to avoid it) a large and unseemly mess of human excrement while exiting the subway. (Don't ask me how I know it wasn't canine - you don't want to know.)

It got worse after that.

Anyway. That was then. Now I feel ever so slightly better. Because the artist FKAB wrote something nice about me on his blog. Yes, I am that silly. I can't talk to the man because he keeps hurting my feelings, in his blundering, probably unintentional way, but well, it was nice to see my name there, cause it hasn't been there in a while. Thanks, B.

And now, here is a (pocketcam, if you can believe it) picture of an iris to keep you all company. Can't you just tell by looking that it smells like sugar?