I'm not going to write about certain things in this diary. For instance, I will not discuss that I now suspect my coworker to be a sociopath after a business dinner last evening.

Because I need this job, as much as I hate to admit it. I am a slave to consumer debt. I must continue to toil until such a time that I can pack away a comfortable little stockpile of dinero and retreat to a quiet, comfortable home office. And I can't afford to get fired by airing opinions that others here could pretty easily find, if they thought to look.

And I will not talk about my boyfriend's anger and control issues, which I fear may drive him to an early grave. We've already had a heart-to-heart, and I feel confident that together we can overcome this.

Hi, my name is Polyanna. What's yours?

Instead, I will talk about music. We're going to see Neko Case and John Doe tomorrow night in San Francisco, and I'm titillated beyond explanation. Neko is one hot mama. I feel the need to buy some impractical sexpot shoes for the occasion.

I will also talk about how I'm going through a dry spell in the book department. My coworker informed me last night that I simply must read Jane Austen. I'm just not interested though. I haven't read a satisfying novel in some time. I'm forcing my way though The Sleep-Over Artist right now, but am not finding it at all interesting. The other night I piled up all the books in the house I haven't read and started them all, read the first two or three pages, then put them down. Nothing is grabbing me.

If anybody has any recommendations, please save me from the ranks of the freaks and pretentiously bad novelists. Write to me in my guestbook. Please.