So I�ve been sitting here in my favorite comfy-but-industrious outfit � my ancient, and currently only, pair of jeans (enough of the ultra low rise, already! Those of us with stretch marks need jeans too! And really, even if you are nubile, I�m really sick of looking at your navel and your butt cleavage.), an even more ancient, vintage even, Liberty print blouse, and a black cashmere pullover that is artfully arranged to conceal its moth holes. Usually this ensemble helps me feel writerly and kind of cute. Today, however, I just feel slovenly, although warm. I suppose this is an improvement over yesterday�s work outfit, which was slovenly although warm but looking like a linebacker. I had been freezing all day and ended up with a very attractive set of three enormous sweaters, topped with an old Princeton scarf (where did this come from???). I was truly a vision.

As this unusually forthcoming description of my wardrobe might suggest, I have not in fact done any actual writing worth mentioning. I suppose that posing as a writer is better than not doing anything at all. I was dressed for it, I was sitting at my desk, but I spent the afternoon hanging out by the metaphorical water cooler and complaining about my coworkers and that evil boss who never comes back after lunch.

In an idle moment, I did chase down some google searches linked to this diary � I�ve seen a sudden increase in googlized traffic lately, and I was kind of curious about where it�s coming from. One such search page also had a link to this page, which I found rather alarming. I usually don�t jump into abortion arguments because while I am firmly pro-choice, I can also understand how someone might not be. People who say things like this, though, really scare me: �It is no secret that witchcraft is sometimes carried out inside abortion clinics.�

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