Are you morally troublesome? Well, I'm not, but I've written you a story to help you feel at home.

Once upon a time, there was a vindictive little princess who lived happily ever after.

THE END

The morals of the story are: when life hands you lemons, squeeze them for juice to rub in the wounds of your enemies.

and

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» Tuesday, November 05, 2002

It's been an interesting month. And when I say interesting, I mean bad in a crippling way. I misplaced my job a couple weeks ago; I think I left it somewhere in a pile of laundry or possibly in a pile of bad economy. In any case, I was laid off, and the seemingly endless flow of mad cash flows no longer.

I spent a couple days clutching my severence check like a rabid dog (in my teeth, foaming. no, honestly.) and avoiding the television, lest I wake up in three months with cookie crumbs clinging to my lips, mindlessly humming the theme song from Jerry Springer.

In a thrilling blitzkrieg of trauma, my social life chose just then to cough up hairballs. The details are irrelevant -- suffice to say, I spent a number of days sulking and throwing innocent stuffed animals against the walls.

Everything was going wrong. The world had finally given up on subtlety and was flaunting its evil plan to drive me completely mad. I teetered, truly I did. So I had a party.

Okay, technically, I had planned the party long before the cosmos tried to go bad karma on my ass. But I didn't cancel it, though I certainly was tempted, and it was a really, really good decision. It was just the thing to halt the teetering, and it has.

My mother always says things like "close one door and another opens" and "it just takes one thing" (I'm pretty sure that means one small change can alter the current tone of one's life, but what do I know?), and while she sounds suspiciously like a Successories poster, she's probably right. I'm having a seriously great week.

I love old friends and bad movies and good books. I love cartoons and messy people and the smell of clean laundry and sun and cold and reindeer socks.

And I'll get a job, I will. And maybe it will be a job that makes me happy, or at least makes me feel alive. I didn't know how to walk away from the money and the mind-numbage. And then I didn't have a choice. And I have the distinct feeling that I will look back on that, maybe not even so long from now, and thank stars that I missed another bullet.

 
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