the angela chase in me strikes again...

you know, orange juice might just be the most fantastic beverage ever.

had occasion to go for a little walk this morning, and interspersed with the conviction that sting's son, singer for fiction plane, sounds undeniably like sting, and that despite the proclamation on its coffee cups, crazy mocha does not in fact serve "pittsburgh's best coffee" (i'd give that title to tazza d'oro in highland park), here's what i was thinking...

i'm a smart girl who puts herself in stupid situations. as much as i can't stand lies or betrayal or games or deceit, and as much as i won't tolerate that crap from my friends, the really cruel irony is that i constantly betray myself. i can justify my way out of a paper bag. wait--that's not how that saying goes. but the point is that out of curiosity or masochism or for sheer thrills, i really do let myself get into situations that aren't really all that good for me. and i truly truly know better. almost always. and almost always from the onset. ugh. perhaps this is wholly consistent with the weird schizophrenic dichotomy that i've been perfecting for 29 years?

i wonder, though, if we take as truth that we make our beds (or our friends' beds, from time to time) and in those beds we lie, is it better sometimes just to actually have a place to sleep? or, perhaps "better" isn't what i mean... perhaps i should ask whether it's enough.

yet, i can't truthfully answer that question with anything other than the lawyerly "it depends." right now it may be enough. tomorrow? eh.

speaking of sleep, there's been surprisingly little of that going around for me of late. here's my goal for tonight -- a full 8 hours, in my bed, while the moon is up and the sun is down.

but before i get that full night's sleep, tonight is harry potter and the goblet of fire! see you at the movies, fellow potterphiles!