Some things I just wrote up on scrap paper

I was buying shoes, and the salesman in the budget shoe store wasn't helpful, and I felt really lousy because I wasn't feeling so hot about making yet another purchase. Not because of the money, but more because I always get depressed at the mall.

So, I found some shoes that I assumed would look good with [whatever], and I paid for them with a check. And everyone was annoyed because only worthless dullards pay with checks anymore. "Where's your check card, sad sack?" "Where's your Y2K?" "Where's your astronaut food in little vacuum-sealed plastic wrappers?"

Shut up, people who don't pay with checks anymore. You have herpes.

I left Payless with a serious chip on my shoulder and a glare for any sucker who looked my way.

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Explaining/Over-Explaining. Not wanting to be misunderstood. I do it. She does it. Shes inevitable, and so are we. I say "we" because I involved you, and you made it clear that - though you very much want to be involved - I needn't be so thorough in my dictation. Especially since 6:30 comes so early for a gal like me. And the "bed" was and is what we make of it.

And I almost cried for fear of being part of a mistake, and I was so delusional and refused for a moment or two to see that I was only DOING IT AGAIN.

But you petted me, and said "don't sweat the small stuff." And I was very much in need of that particular cliché at the time, and you knew it.