Nine hours of sleeping like the dead has not cured me of a severe case of selfpityitis. Neither has directing the small ones to clean their rooms. Or all of us “lounging” (read: being slugbutts) in our pajamas all morning. I may have to break down and make an appointment to see my therapist. She’s a lovely woman who never tires of listening to me tell her what a horrible human I am. Or maybe she’s just thinking of all the things she can buy with the gobs of money my insurance company gives her. I’m not really sure.

Kira and I have exchanged a tearful reunion via email, complete with expressions of our undying adoration for one another, commiseration over the difficult five days away from our nightly IM snort-fests, and her promising to share the recipe for the amazing Kira cookies. “… but I have to WARN YOU,” she wrote me, “They contain SHORTENING. So. You know, trans fats and all. The guilt is killing me.” Shortening? Trans what, now? Do you not know me at all? Have you not been reading my blog lo these many months, the ultimate repository of my narcissistic wallowing? If I don’t deserve a little shortening, then who does, I ask you!

Anyone out there with a must-have cookie recipe that uses actual lard? Because desperate times call for desperate measures, you know. It’s best to be prepared, just in case things get worse.

And speaking of food (when am I not speaking of food?), a friend called this morning and invited herself over for dinner. Which is fine with me. But it started out as “I will bring dinner over to your house” and somehow devolved into me mentioning that I needed to make a grocery run and ending up with a shopping list for said dinner. At least this way I know I like what we’re having, right? And I will have company (kids will be with the ex for dinner), which is good because it serves to mitigate my self-loathing a little.

But in other news, I have a gmail account, now, thanks to Beth. Which means I am cool. Managing my various email account could now officially be considered a full-time job, but alas, the pay leaves something to be desired.

I should be better by tonight. Tonight, I will start up my grill and have an excellent meal. You know how playing with fire cheers me right up. Everything tastes better when cooked over an open flame. Also, burning effigies of people who pissed me off is good, too. Sometimes ya gotta go with the simple pleasures of life.