the sun'll come out, to-mor-row

Despite some meager attempts to have fun this weekend, I am suffering from a major case of the blahs. This is my own damn fault since I haven't touched anything made of spandex in two weeks (except to shake the dustbunnies and hairballs off a pair of shorts and shove them back in a drawer.) As recent medical research suggests, exercise is about as effective as Prozac at raising serotonin levels and, hence, one's mood. So tonight I'm going to spinning class, because the dry mouth and sexual side effects of the aforementioned pill are just not ok. That, and I have no health insurance and am too lazy to go to doctors. I'm also a fan of good old fashioned positive thinking when I'm feeling craptacular. For example, I'm happy that, though far from perfect (or even mediocre, for that matter,) my skin is much better than Brit Brit's. And despite my problems with the little bastards, as far as I know there are no cockroach colonies shacking up in my kitchen appliances. And if I have enough money to pay off enough of my credit card debt to max it out with a plane ticket, I'm going to visit my lil' sis in Chile--land of the really hot people.