I forgot, however that when you’re deep cleaning, things tend to get messier first and the mess tends to travel. Although under my bed is organized and pretty, the rest of my formerly neat (if not spotless) room looks like a disaster area.

I guess mental clarity will have to wait.

“Mmmm, pretty,” I said drowsily, looking out at the snow-covered scene. It was dark and silent; most of the neighborhood was still sleeping and for the moment ignorant of the blizzard that would  greet them when they woke. From the warmth of the house, it was a beautiful sight. Every surface was blanketed with white, like a child’s gingerbread house with gobs of icing covering EVERYTHING. And yet, it was still delicate in its own way. After looking for a while, I went back to bed.

The beauty was short-lived as I was woken up by my brother a few hours later. Several trees had snapped from the weight of the snow, and a branch from one was perched precariously on a power line between our house and our neighbor’s house. It was supposed to start getting really cold around nine, too so we had to clear as much snow away as we could before it froze.

I stumbled out of bed, threw on some warm clothes, and ventured outside. Some people came by to take care of the branch, and we spent a good part of the morning snow blowing and shoveling what seemed like endless amounts of snow and fighting what felt like a fruitless battle. It seemed as soon as we cleared some snow away, more would magically appear. When we finally stopped, my arms were aching, my clothes were soaked, and I found myself cursing anything and everything and regretting all the times I’d slacked on doing upper body strength training.

I spent the rest of the day watching the Food Network (power came back on) and flipping through magazines. Everything in the area was closed or canceled so everybody was home, which is kind of a rare occurrence. Verdict is still out on whether we’ll be snowed in again tomorrow.

Getting the phone must have sparked something in this technologically challenged girl, because since then, I’ve had techno fever. I downloaded and edited a ringtone of The Shins’ “Saint Simon,” took a picture for the wallpaper, and figured out how to use the Easyedge thing to check my e-mail and Facebook page.

21st Century, I think this  is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

And when presented with the chance of something good with someone decent, why do I close off to him, while doing everything in my power to sabotage any chances I might have?

I was getting ready for the aforementioned interview today. After a good hour of trying to find something to go with my deep purple Oxford shirt (and after realizing I was going to be late if I didn’t just pick something), I set to ironing. Everything was going normally (intermittent swearing and name-calling of inanimate objects, but generally, more wrinkles coming out than going in), when the back of the brand-new shirt shredded. I didn’t leave the iron on it for too long, I wasn’t stretching it, the shirt just fell apart.

Why is it always when you are getting ready for something important that everything seems to go wrong?

Needless to say, I was not in a good mindset for an interview by the time I got into the car, hastily dressed, empty-stomached (no time to eat), and peeved. Luckily, the half-hour drive and some good ol’ Joni Mitchell calmed me down and the interview went alright.

Suddenly feeling an odd surge of sympathy for Janet Jackson.

Oh yeah, I have a job interview! It’s for a part-time job that would run through June. It sounds like a good job, and it would be stable employment for a good seven months, so I’m really hoping it goes well.

But back to the cookies. They came out pretty well – chocolatey and melty, crispy on the edges and soft in the middle. Biting into one, I felt like I was eight-years-old again. That’s one of the things I love about chocolate chip cookies – so simple, yet so…sublime.

I used this recipe for (believe it or not) low fat cookies, and they tasted just like chocolate chip cookies are supposed to taste. The recipe made a small batch of cookies – just one sheet-full, but it was very easy. One tip I have is to grease the cookie sheet before you put dough on it. Since there is less margarine in this recipe, the cookies tend to stick a little more. It was like scraping ice off a windshield. Oof.

I always get pictorial proof of my baking successes, so here they are:

There comes a point though when comfy crosses the line to downright unfortunate. The other day, I opened my dresser drawer to find a ball of faded skivvies and over-sized sleep shirts that were unmistakably waving white flags in my direction.

Realizing that it has been far too long since I bought under/sleepwear, I spent the evening looking at vintage nightgowns on Etsy. There’s something so delicate and airy about a silky little nightie, and I thought it would be a good place to start.

A friend of mine used to order pretty lingerie from places like Victoria’s Secret and Anthropologie. She liked to buy it for herself, boyfriend or no. She said it was worth the splurge, because it made her feel pretty and confident.

I think we could all take a cue from her. Why not be pretty for ourselves? Why wait until some guy is in the picture to wear something that makes us feel sassy?

I think we’re worth it, ladies.

I’ve gotten recommendations from a few people to see the movie “Hitch,” so when it was on TV tonight, I decided to watch it.

I expected a normal chick flick with a predictable chick flick plot: boy and girl meet, boy and girl fall for each other, boy and girl have a misunderstanding that leaves one of them feeling betrayed, boy and girl make up, kiss, and live happily ever after.

What I got was…a normal chick flick with a predictable chick flick plot. What I got that I didn’t expect was that it actually hurt to watch it.

Maybe it’s the frigid bitch in me, but I found myself believing the arguments for not falling in love and not allowing yourself to get hurt more than the “love conquers all” argument presented at the end.

After a break-up, people always try to comfort you with the notion that even if a relationship caused you pain, it was worth it for the happiness it once brought you; the whole “don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened” idea.

When I think back on my relationship with The Ex (from this post) though, all of the happy times (and they were truly happy times) added together just don’t seem worth the way I felt when I was finally able to say “I love you” for the first time, he told me he “couldn’t love,” and my heart learned what it feels like to break. To be honest, very little seems worth going through that ever again.

And now, months later, as I look at a man who is decent and good to me and know that I have been hurt to the point where I don’t know if I can trust again, love just doesn’t seem worth it.

And yet, I know that just like everybody else, I will do it all again, because that’s what people do.

Sometimes, I wonder why.

After I left last night, I couldn’t sleep. Thoughts kept running through my head, and strange things – like my feet being cold and my face itching – seemed unusually uncomfortable. The last time I looked at my alarm clock, it was two in the morning.

When the alarm rang today, I rolled over, suppressed the guilt in my stomach, shut it off, and went back to sleep. What can I say? Sometimes, you have to admit when you’ve been beat.

In other news, I got a freelance job! Actual work will depend on if I get any assignments, but I was hired by a company who will contract me out to local businesses who need freelance writers.  It’s a start, and I’ll take it.

Off to get ready for my favorite night of television. Stories of Halloween to come, promise.