Whereas at morning in a jeweled crown
I bit my fingers and was hard to please,
Having shook disaster till the fruit fell down
I feel tonight more happy and at ease:
Edna St. Vincent Millay, ll. 1-4, sonnet xxiv, Fatal Interview
Edna says it for me almost every time.
I was in a really foul mood yesterday, so foul that I couldn't even manage to type it up, for which be very glad. But at some point the fever broke--not until after I had left a crying phone message for someone at 7 a.m. their time, dropped S. at the skating rink with no socks, and offended a friend by inadvertently making a face when she suggested bringing a sprinkler and slip-n-slide to a barbecue we were both attending later. Okay, the fever broke at the barbecue after two beers, a frozen margarita, and the professional-level funniness of one of my friends' husbands. I wish his genius translated to the written page, but trust me--I'll just tell you one jest involved Pixie Stix.
Oops, gotta run...