Walking on Concrete

Putting my feminism and modernisim armor away for the day. I was tired of feeling blue, and also tired of trying to be tough and fight it all. So I quit trying. I gave in to my self-destructive false emotional sureties. I ate a chocolate sundae. I prepared for a crying fit; a fit that never materialized. Instead I spent a pleasant day lounging in bed, reading poetry, reading stupid tarot cards, buying books on mythology, and lounging in the bath while reading about pre-Raphaelites. Damn, I feel much better. Not even my new realization -- that I have a lot more in common with sad-sack Elaine than loved-too-much Guinevere -- is upsetting me.