I walked 5 miles this morning in an effort to slip out of my skin and be that skinny chick in the coffee shop again. It sort of worked, but unfortunately for me the slipping skin was on my feet.
Sometimes I just get frustrated.
Tomorow is closet day! Last time I rooted around in there, I found an unsent letter to Wil Wheaton. How embarassing.
I apologize for the disjointed nature of my writing of late, but I'm feeling rather half-crazed and a little over-baked. Somewhere a cat is snoring.
Somewhere else a puppysmuggler is going to bed.