I am in far better spirits than I should be. In fact, I’m wondering if I’m mistaking full-blown mania for good spirits. After the past few days, that wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

I’m disappointed. Brian and I have tickets to see Wilco in Bloomington, Indiana, next week, which includes seeing a bunch of people we dig, but it looks like we’re going to have to cancel. I’ll be glad when Clara Jane’s old enough to go to shows with us. I saw a few younger than her at the Jeff Tweedy show in January, so I’m not sure what’s holding us back. Aside from not wanting to listen to whining for two hours when I’m supposed to be rocking out hardcore.

Although my rocking out hardcore should probably be curtailed. Have I shared with you the video I recently found on YouTube of me, dancing at that Bottle Rockets show last December? Oh lord. Brace yourself for the fine moves at the nine second mark.

Shut up. It was the last song of a killer three-hour set. It was like fucking Woodstock at that point. When was the last time you danced like no one was watching? Huh? So there.

Anyway. Two tear-stained Wilco tickets for sale. Maybe. I haven’t quite been able to let go of them yet.

In better news, Kristina’s escaping the April snowbelt blizzards in Ohio and will be here this afternoon! Tomorrow, we’re going to see Morrissey.

Do you know what that means?

Making fun of Morrissey in person! How can I possibly be too sad when the best activity in the world looms?

I have some really passive-aggressive things I’d like to say about passive-aggression, but there are some contradictory issues with that.

I’m going jean-shopping today. Fun. I wouldn’t be sharing this, except I somehow managed to rip out the entire crotch of my favorite jeans while doing the oh-so-strenuous act of sitting in my truck and driving yesterday. Made for a very cold afternoon.

Got some good news from the Riverfront Times this morning. Mainly, that I’m a sick, sick woman. I’m glad this particular skills set has become profitable. God bless America.

Okay, where the hell’s that Klonopin? I have non-crotchless pants to purchase.