My most sincere, heartfelt apologies..

..To whoever that is wearing that lovely outfit/hat ensemble, but...the look on Sean's face is utterly priceless....This really made me think.

Dear God.

I hope I never meet him in person. Or, at least, that I am only wearing jeans or something..He will probably look at me that way *anyway*....

http://www.bagendinn.com/Sean/images/events/seansign17.jpg

$%^&*#

I guess that this is what I get for being so catty earlier..Instant Kharma, if you will..the slight stuffiness of head and tickling in the back of my throat that I woke up with is now a pounding, full-on headcold. Rrrggh. My sinuses are on fire, I think; but I don't know how that can be possible, as I am currently drowning in snot. Totally blocked. Will spare further graphic details, as it aint pretty.

Upon looking at some old pics of Sean and Elijah together...uh...I am not a 'shipper of that particular stripe' but, let's just say that if someone was looking at *me* that way..with that much warmth and focus? Well, I would be flattered, to say the least. Blushing furiously under the sheer force of it, more like...Maybe its just me.

Not much to say, really. Went to the laundrymat, and that damn woman was there again. Do *not* know what her problem with me is..Doing laundry is usually a nice little 'me' time..I just take my headphones and The Fabulous Bag 'o CDs, and sip my twice-a-week-treat of Diet Coke while quietly jammin'. I mean, the laundrymat is clean...warm...smells good..no one messes with you. I like it.

I catch her staring daggers at me..constantly...for what, I don't know. Well, tonight, I finally *met* her gaze, as I was in no mood for bullshit. She seemed startled at my raised eyebrow before breaking the gaze, then turning away.

She exhudes divorced menopausal bitterness, it is etched deeply in her face and hangs heavily in the defeated bearing of her posture..her eyes are small, cold, steel bearings in a flat doughlike mask under a dull and yellowing wig of Betty Crocker hair. For some reason, she hates me--and makes no bones about it.

I usually ignore her. Her clicking of her tongue when I drop a quarter..her brisk slamming down of her basket on the table across from me..her huff and exaggerated turn of head when she has to walk past me..She gets so flustered.

I pretend not to notice. I mean, like I care what she thinks of me, right?

Maybe she is just really unhappy..and can't stand to see my frivolous toe-tapping; I try to be as low-key as possible. I *do*! Maybe she knows me from somewhere, or thinks she does...I honestly don't know her from a hole in the ground. I even tried a brief, self-deprecating smile once, only to be met with the usual stony gaze.

Maybe I *am* a little afraid of her. Or more specifically, of becoming her. Maybe that is what bugs me so much. Maybe she was abused. Maybe she feels alone and defensive. Maybe she once had dreams, and love, and hope and aspirations, and maybe they died a long and drawn-out death..and maybe...she simply gave them away. To responsibility, to scratching out a living, to raising children, to doing what was 'expected' of her..

Maybe I should try that smile again.