Oh, bother . . .

I had a fun weekend, but one still steeped in blueseyness. I'm convinced it's winter that's doing this to me. Or the Yaz maybe. It better be winter, because otherwise I'm becoming a complete Debbie Downer.

Evidence? Well, I'm glad you asked!

1. I started going through some files and whatnot for my taxes and I became completely convinced that I need to really figure out my finances since I'm going to die alone. (Image: sniffling while looking through student loans. They're not that bad, you know?)

2. Went to a dinner party that was Bridget Jones-esque in its ridiculous seating arrangements--"single girl and smug marrieds"--and yet I found no humor in the experience. I found myself wanting to claw my eyes out instead.

3. Had Chinese food with a girlfriend and found myself arguing for why I needed to move. Again. After I've gotten so settled. Again. Because sadness can only be cured by hiring movers? (Actual quote: "I can't sit in that coffeehouse and work. It's a cute man vacuum.")

4. Started my Sunday morning by seeing a funny ad for my ex on a dating website and wept instead of laughed. At least I didn't throw up this time. (There were misspellings, too. This should light me up like a Christmas tree, not make me pine.) <--this may be hilarious.

5. Watched Jane Eyre on Masterpiece Theater last night and thought, "They've really captured the charm of the book here. The two of them are not nearly as dour as I recall." (That, or I'm so past the point of dour that Mr. Rochester seems chipper!? Danger Will Robinson!)

This needs to end post-haste. I have no room for other people's happiness, I find stories of pleasure depressing, and I've basically become Eeyore to everyone else's Pooh. This is not me. I AM POOH!

Ok, that made me laugh out loud. Maybe there's hope for me yet.