I am sitting here wondering how it is possible that I will be able to do everything I need to do without exploding. It is 10:30 on a Thursday morning and I am sitting at the computer with a bag of cheetos and a Diet Pepsi. It doesn't get any worse than this. I have reached the depths. All I want to do is crawl back into bed and sleep for days. And read, read, read.Lately even reading has not been much of a refuge. I am reading a book right now where they are talking about the Zone diet. What has the world come to where you can't avoid diet talk even in fiction? It's time to get back to Austen and Wharton. They do mention the occasional 18 inch waist but I can easily block that out. When I am in the locker room at the Y I am ready for it—the constant food talk. I expect it. But not in my novels. Is nothing sacred anymore? Are the heroes and heroines of modern fiction going to be emotional and physical anorexics? Ugh! And if reading can't supply the escape then what? Drugs? Don't get me wrong, I like the occasional mind-altering substance, but it's too expensive. And I don't care what anyone says, drinking and drugs take WAY too much stamina.