Monday, February 23, 2004

I have nothing to say. I'm writing, because I haven't in a few days. I'm in a bad mood. I'm not particularly thrilled with my job, I just got a rejection letter for an article the editor said "wasn't quite what she had in mind," while I wrote the article, because she "wanted to see what I could do with it." Uh, I'm not a friggin' mindreader over here! Let me know what you want, and I'll write it. No problem. Another rejection came from an agency, not even a publishing house, which suggests that I purchase Literary Marketplace and look for another agency. Yeah. Thanks.

Sex and the City ended last night. I enjoyed watching the retrospective, eating petits pains, and drinking fake Cosmos with Mama. Still, something bothers me about the whole John/Mr.Big thing. Yeah, I'm happy, but is he going to leave Carrie again? I know we'll never find out, but he did it before. He went and MARRIED SOMEONE ELSE, then had an affair with Carrie, got divorced, and still didn't want her. What's different this time?

Except for this slightly bitter line of questioning (the end is somewhat too neat, yes?), I greatly enjoyed the following:

Charlotte: This is our baby. It really is.

Samantha: You mean more to me than any man I've ever known.

Magda (to Miranda): You love.


Alright, back to work (oh wait, still on my break, I can look for another job now).

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