So much to say...

I'm either definitely moving from clinically depressed and waltzing right on over into totally insane, or -- it's the weather. Every few days, it's just so horribly dark and grey here. Drives me crazy. I loathe winter. I despise it.

Oh, my gosh, that reminds me of an incident in fourth grade. The boy who sat next to me in math class told the teacher that I hated math. Just because I liked the teacher and didn't want to hurt his feelings, I protested, no, I didn't *hate* math. Whereupon the rotten little twerp said, "Yes, you do! You said, 'I hate math, I deeeeeeee-spiiiiiiiiiise math!'"

Dagnabbit, I might have gotten away with it if I hadn't had a bigger vocabulary than the tattler.

Oo. Thirty years later, I'm still not that keen on numbers. Go figure.

I've been trying to decide what today's post would be about, and I still haven't decided. I posted my personal scrapbooking method on Scraptalk the other day. That was fun. Or painful. Haven't decided which. At least it was entertaining.

While I was ranting and raving about the utterly out-of-control mistreatment of artists earlier this week, I had a bit of mildly disappointing news. A few years ago, it would have been completely devastating, but I've run out of patience with devastation. Now instead of spending four days weeping bitterly over a disappointment, I've decided that people in power are just insane. Or jealous. Not sure which. Maybe both. Anyway, being sure that it isn't entirely my fault makes it awfully easy to tell myself this is OK, this isn't the end of the world, and I'm going to Las Vegas next week.

Las Vegas is a great balm.

I've also run completely out of patience with sporting events. Please don't make me go see any more games. Arenas are stinky, the people there are rude, the noise level is deafening, the food is nearly poisonous, and I don't understand the games. Any of them. Pick one major sport that earns bazillions of dollars. Now ask me what I understand about it. I *don't*. I don't get it, and I don't even want to.

Oh, yes, I had to watch "The West Wing" on a tiny television in the kids' common room tonight. Guess what was on the good TV in the living room. Yep. Some game. Don't ask me who, don't ask me what, don't ask me why -- I do not know. And the older I get, the less patience I have with the whole shebang.

And of course, Las Vegas remains a great balm. Surely I will not encounter anything even remotely sporty in Las Vegas. I will only run into great milk shakes, fun sisters, fast whore-red slutmobiles, fabulous shows, gorgeous fountains, and very darned interesting crafty stuff.

Isn't it time for some Cuban jazz? Yes, I thought so, too! "De Alto Cedro voy para Macané!" Now, that's worth getting feisty, even on a Sunday.