The post in which she gets a care package.

I'm a utility knife elitist. I was one way before 9/11, and I've had my utility knife that has gotten me through art school since pre-college in 2003. We're pretty attached to one another. In all the work I did on the stained class sun-catcher I made for the ex (and gave him right before he broke up with me), I guess I lost track of the thing, and had to leave SoCal without it. But, this week I recieved a care package containing the following: knee high socks! my utility knife (which was lost in my room!) two new belts (I lost mine somewhere at home) new blades for said knife So, that was nice. And then I picked up the OTHER package I got, which I thought might have been one of my many new books. Oh, and it was. Mind you, not a book I would have purchased myself. A book my mom got me. I knew it would probably be a self-help book, given all the tough things I'm going through, but I was pretty surprised to see Dr. Phil staring back at me. Apparently, gentle readers, I am so far gone that we've brought out the Big Guns: Dr. Phil's Love Smart. Never mind it's typeset with a trio of sweet little heart outlines around the numbers at the bottom of each page. Instead of little black holes for bullets, like the rest of the world uses, Dr. Phil's press saw fit to create another heart icon. It's not just the typesetting that bothers me about this book. Nor the clever use of a photo of Dr. Phil's back on the back dustjacket (Wow! The book is see-through!). It's that love isn't simple, relationships aren't, and I am not very keen on looking to Dr. Phil for advice on how to get on with my life. I don't need a man to tell me how to net a man, and I don't want one. I want to fumble around in the dark for a switch like everyone else, because I'm learning better with the risk of bruising. Also, Dr. Phil aggrivates me a great deal. I've got some other things to read right now, regarding the mind-body split, which are far more interesting. Will I peruse it? Sure. Will I let residents borrow it? Of course. Will I learn anything from Dr. Phil and will I be able to transcend my loathing for the man and the typesetting to mend my broken heart? We will find out, I suppose.