There’s something wrong with me. I’ve been extra irritable. Extra lethargic. Extra sarcastic. And extra emotional. No, I am not ovulating/having my period. And because I can’t seem to identify the cause, I shall blame it on the crossword puzzle. Yes, I spent the afternoon filling in little boxes with answers to: Yearbook sec. or Essence (var.) or Actress, ______ Barrymore (and mind you, it ain’t Drew) or Bubbly band leader, to name a very few. Funny how desperation figures in trying to identify answers to cetain far-fetched clues, like What’s in _____, in which… or personalities alien to me like Aunt Millie’s rival. I tried answering aname (“a name”) to the former but it doesn’t make sense in relation to the other boxes surrounding it. As for the latter, I only had one clue, which was a mere N as its second to the last letter. So the permutations follow, Edna, Anne, Arni, Jane, Mona… who could have possibly been Aunt Millie’s rival?! And over what? Cooking? Hair-dos? The children? A man? So after how many hours of relying on stock knowledge, counting squares, going through the entire alphabet and trying to mentally fit each possible letter into items with clues that are really beyond me, I did get very close to finishing the crossword-f____ing-puzzle. I was left with two items. Fancy dance and Meeting. I wanted to kick myself for not knowing what word was synonymous to meeting, (to think I frequent such gatherings) and ends with the letters irn.
And why the hell am I so irritable? Is it because of the place where one waits? Or maybe because of a dairy tubful? Or perhaps it is out of the desire to propel, as a shot. There must be something amiss in my soul, according to Sartre.
What a corny blog entry.