AN: Here's a Drabble fic for you all! The rest of my stories are in various writing stages, so I will keep you updated for those reading the other stories. This is just my attempt at a bit of angst, that is stuck in my head and fighting to get out. Well...angst and humor/romance. I seriously cannot stop make jokes. It's like asking a fish not to swim and bird not to fly. I just can't be completely serious.

I will try for several little updates a day. (as long as that crazy dog cooperates.)

Please forgive my mistakes. No BETA. :0(

This is dedicated to the awesome TJE, author of The Trip. Read it now! It's fantastic and on my favorite stories on my profile.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but wish I did.

Chapter One: Affirmation

"I'm good enough, I'm...ahh...smart enough and by golly people like me."

Just call me Stuart Smiley. I think I got the quote right. That's some old school SNL right there. You would think that by now, I would have figured out the quote correctly. We used to have the greatest episodes DVD's. Of course, he took those with him. Couldn't he at least leave The Best of Will Ferrell? That isn't the point. The point is every morning; here I stand, staring into a mirror and channel the honorable Senator from Minnesota. Actually, he might be a Representative from Wisconsin. I'm not quite sure. I really should follow politics more.

Not the point. The point is that while I stand here every morning with my hair twisted into a bird's nest, my gigantic glasses perched on my nose, wearing his oversized REM tee shirt I found balled up in the laundry after he left, I stand and try to make myself feel better. All the while with a pink toothbrush stuck in the side of my mouth with spittle of Aquafresh flying all over the mirror. Which makes it all his fault, that I now need to scrub down my spit covered bathroom. That and the fact I am actually trying to talk myself into having a good day.

What an asshole. With him being the asshole and not me. I take that back, due to me being the idiot yammering to my reflection in the bathroom. I'm an asshole, too. I have officially gone nutty. In fact, I promised myself that I would not to become one of those women. The kind that wail and drink cheap box wine over my man leaving me while listening to Patsy Cline. You would think after a year, I would be over Edward Cullen. Yet here I am, giving myself a pep talk by way of old Saturday Night Live skits and trying not to play my Tori Amos Sad Chick playlist. I'm just as bad.

I need coffee.