Enough boo-hoo. Poor Pitiful Me. I get tired of it. It's a mechanism I resort to when I can't cope otherwise, but I admit it's not my best. While I work on devising a more adult, elegant form or dealing, I try to keep my verbal kicks and screams to a minimum, leaving the bulk of it to anonymity and paper. I'm not proud of it by any means, but judging by what they see when I set out the door, they'd never imagine so much gloom and despair is left behind. In the end, I always turn out okay.