Books written for girls

A guy who was panhandling on a median shouted at me today as I was driving towards him. "Well, here comes the bitch!" Nice. That's the kind of holiday spirit I like to hear. It did make me look up and laugh. He smiled back (and held out his hand). Funny way to make a buck.

The office is getting cleaned up, despite yesterday's ridiculous mess. The problem is the distraction of going through all that  embarassing stuff like letters and diaries and saved horoscopes and other nonesense, like this poem an old boyfriend left me ages ago right after we broke up:

O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm

Has found out thy bed:
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

(it's a lovely one by William Blake, but a bit melodramatic, don't you think?)