Walked across the bridge last night to Lincoln Center where Joshua Bell rolled around and wrestled Tchaikovsky's violin concerto to the floor. Joshua, who I don't even know, can make a noise that reaches right into my pea sized heart and makes it ring. Not sure if the ringing is a prelude to joy or will I bust down and cry.

Now, as we all know or will know pretty soon, other people can make a noise that makes you want to scream. Nothing wrong with screaming. It's gotten bad press. Still I am determined not to scream. If I must, it will be a very quiet scream that only I can hear.

there must have been a time when this birthday stuff was fun. I remember that, I think. But no more. Charge to the bank. I have to remind all my sisters, not to call. Very aggravating when they call. There must have been a time when it was fun when they called. O remember that. Now i just glare at the phone. Everything stops. I think I've become a good glarer. Why let any of this get under your skin, you say? Easy to you to say. You who are not sitting here across from a mad woman. (Is that me or her? Both)

A deep anger has settled in. Mix that up with pity (is that for me or her). Pity is, just to be confusing, a lagniappe. That is, until she makes that noise. At which time, I will figure out if it's time to scream or cry. Definitely not joy. Definitely.