I feel so all used up today. Felt it when I was going to sleep last night, at three, at four, who knows. Yesterday I spent the day cleaning off and ridding myself of the coffee table that I no longer have room for since my Grandmother's couch arrived, oh, four months ago. It was a long-delayed project, and it left me with a mother of a backache.

Today I worked, and found myself melancholy and distracted. The same people give me the same wonderful things -- Debbie with her reality checks, Allisyn with her concern, Saprina with her pep talks -- but nothing seems to make me want to do anything but lie my head on the cold steel of the checkout counter. It doesn't help that I've had raging headaches for days now. The feeling of cold metal actually eases that some.

I find I've been holding on to the same wish I've carried around with me so often throughout the years: the burning desire for something good to happen. Something. Anything.

Instead, I think I'll follow catbirdgirl's lead and draw myself a bath. Sit, soak, think. Maybe tomorrow I'll quit smoking again. Then again, maybe I won't.