Current mood:	complacent
Current music:	Madness: "It Must Be Love" (head only)

It Must Be Love
How can it be
That we can
say so much without words
Bless you and bless me
Bless the bees and the birds
I've got to be near you every night, every day
I couldn't be happy any other way

-Madness, "It Must Be Love"

I guess I wasn't as tired as I'd thought. I went to bed, and got chatty; I finally had to remove myself before Miss Mabel had a chance to kick me out of the room because I was keeping her awake. Bless her heart, putting up with an insomniac who also suffers from acute bouts of loggarhea . . .

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and this is probably the first Christmas in a long time that promises happiness, companionship, comfort and joy. Last year, I didn't even go to my mother's; I stayed home with the cats and sulked. This year, we're going to my mother's, so the cats will have to sulk without me.

Of course, I do still have the dreaded Christmas Funk; others who suffer this annual malady can attest to the fact that, while it's a definite funk we fall into, it's got nothing to do with Rick James or Lakeside and everything to do with wanting to take a mace or a machine gun to Christmas trees, stuffed stockings, red Salvation Army buckets and bigger-than-life-size inflatable snowmen waving from the foot of someone's driveway.

If anyone should ask, "What would Jesus do?" I'd have to stand by my assertion that "He would never stop puking. . ."

And even though it's the yuletide, I'm still sending query letters and first chapters of my book to agents, hoping someone will take me on (or--A-Ha!--take on me) as a client. I have five queries out right now. I do love the convenience of sending e-mail queries, though it would probably be good to have hard-copy rejections to add to the stack I've received over the years, and that I keep in my desk at all times.