Regretfully Yours

As I begin to stare 30 in the face, I admit that, in order to be the best version of myself, I should be asleep at 1:30 am. I'm often not, though, and often not for any good reason. I'm rarely reading some magnificent novel, or having a top-15% sexual experience, or dancing til delirious. No, I'm much more likely to be eating cheap olives and half-watching some dreck on TBS (which is slightly better than drinking cheap gin and fully-watching some dreck on Oxygen, I guess). Last night, after a good long weep induced by damn Judi Dench, I thought it'd be nice to blog for a bit. Oi. Did anyone read that post before I woke up this morning and deleted it in dismay? I hope not.

Comments

[Shelley H]

You're the third person who said they cried after watching Cranford last night. I must be made of stone, because although I loved it, it never even entered my mind to become sniffly!

[amanda]

I'm glad I'm in good company with the crying and Cranford. I thought it was just me and worried I was getting soft.