Thanks to the reassurances of Kate and Miss P., I think I�m done being neurotic for now, but that�s just it. The party girl remorse doesn�t hit for a few days, but when it hits, heaven help us all. And it�s not really remorse, I guess, but something more akin to paranoia.

But really, what a fiasco. I don�t see why I can�t have a normal life; why there has to be some bizarre twist to everything I try to do, like the explosion when I tried to start the oven over the weekend. Please, just once?

Yes, my front door was stuck shut. It opened, albeit with difficulty, to let us in, but then there was no budging it to get out. How trite is that? I could practically hear the family proclaiming, in enthusiastic unison, �Looks like she�s finally caught herself a man!�

I guess it�s just good I got in�it�s easier to break out of my place than in.

I can�t imagine what the landlords must think after that maintenance call, and that�s before they know about the mower wheel refusing to stay on, the glass of the kitchen windows separating from the frames and the whole oven issue. They just sound beleaguered when I ring. Confused.

I�ll drink to that.