Musings

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If I have to exercise again I swear I’ll loose my mind.

If I have to watch what I eat again I swear I’ll die.

The question arises:

Would I rather be unhealthy and fat or crazy and dead?…

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sadie_photo.jpgDo you live in a house where no one ever re-fills the ice cube trays? They take the very last cube and put the empty tray back in the freezer? Or, one of my favorites – they put the tray back with only one cube left in the tray.

You ask yourself – why do they do this? The question plagues and frustrates you; and drives you to ask even more questions. Questions which lead you to believe they have no consideration for you. You even begin to question your relationship. You wonder, how you landed up with some one who is so uncaring and selfish- this person, who can not be bothered to fill up the ice cube tray is the same person who can’t find the clothes hamper …

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Imagine if there were no writers in the world.  Hard to imagine huh?  No books, no magazines, no newspapers, no scripted television shows, you get the picture.

With the writers strike there are no writers for scripted television shows – which means anyone who can produce a television show without writers can have a television show. This means MORE Reality TV. As Maria in West Side Story said “please make it not be true”.

Imagine if our beloved authors went on strike and the publishing houses decided to print books anyway – who would write them?  The editors? The publishers?  And if they did write them, what would they be like? Can you even imagine such a thing?  Well that’s sort of what’s happening to television.  A whole new era …

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Sometimes I wish I could wake up and it would be “after a while…”Sometimes I wish I could wake up and it would be “eventually…”Sometimes I wish I could wake up and it would be “it came to pass…” These are all phrases that begin the first sentence of the first paragraph of Chapter 14. But to begin Chapter 14 we must first finish Chapter 13. Of course we all know how Chapter 13 ends; with a damsel in distress. With the heroine being dumped by her beloved. With the plain looking, but deeply sensitive, compassionate and wise leading lady, with the soul of an angel, loosing the use of both her legs. Or the red haired, willful, courageous, and brave young girl with spitfire in her

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sadie_photo1.jpg A scene from one of my favorite couples on television:

D: “What I give to you, what – what I share, I do with no one else. I like to think that what you give to me, you do with nobody else. Now that – that may sound silly to you, but here’s the thing I think is silly – the idea that jealousy or fidelity is reserved for romance. I always suspected that there was a connection between you and that man. That you got something form him you didn’t get form me.”

A: “I probably do. But gosh, what I get from you, Denny… people walk around today calling everyone their best friend. The term doesn’t have any real meaning anymore. Mere acquaintances are lavished with hugs and

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I believe I was about twelve or thirteen when I discovered my first “romance.” As an avid reader I was always prowling through the fiction section in my school library, looking for something I hadn’t already read. I don’t remember the name of the book or author, but I still remember the vicarious thrill I felt when the hero swept the heroine up into his arms to give her a forceful kiss. There was no turning back. I had no more interest in Nancy Drew or the Bobbsie Twins, it was all romance all the time.

By the ninth grade I had discovered Harlequin Romances and Barbara Cartland. Through them I saw the world, visited exotic locations, and learned of foreign cultures, but most of all, I fell in love

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