While my guitar gently weeps

... not that I have a guitar. Well, I do, but I can't play it. It wouldn't so much weep as shriek.

Tonight I am full of sadness, but in a good way. I feel like if I started writing about it I'd never stop, and I have a hell of a day ahead tomorrow, so probably best not to start.

I used to work with a Mormon woman in her late 40s who had, by anyone's standards, been dealt a difficult hand to play in this life. She said to me once (when I was about 25) that nobody under 35 could call themselves an adult.

I'm not there yet, but I'm beginning to see what she means.

joella