...her interests are classical at best...

So, I wanted to see you tonight. Don't let the fact that I was in repeats and missing make-up convince you otherwise - I wanted to see you, and talk to you, tonight. Red backpack, you bolted so fast no looking back. Your friend came in later, and I was floored because she is a grownup. And beautiful. A beautiful, grown-up grownup. I can't even pretend. My skin is too new.

Nothing happened tonight. And by nothing I mean, I was cranky and surly, not to be approached except for one brief moment when a cloud lifted over kids (literally, not metaphorically) and the upper section was bathed in sunlight. It did not last nearly long enough, but it did help.

Do you believe in signs?

I gathered the last book off the floor before going on my break, a thick political science book. As I walked up the stairs, I haphazardly faced it over: a biography of Henry Kissinger.

The cereal I went to buy on Sunday, on a whim: a Survivor special edition, with sweepstakes offer.

I want nothing more than for these random coincidences to be proof from the universe that it is conspiring to help me. That, and martinis tomorrow night.