I've been surfing the Internet, looking at sites about grieving. There are quite a few of them. They say, you take it one day at a time. You keep busy. But just when I think I'm past it, something will set me off again.

The flap about The Portrait is no big deal. I can deal with the poseurs who are harping on that. It's the little things that bring it all back. The other night I'm rooting around in a closet in Mahonia, looking for a light bulb, and I come across a couple of dusty, yellowed ticket stubs from Sex, Lies and Videotape. Or I'm in Wal-Mart, and they've got "One Less Bell to Answer" playing on the PA.

Oh, I've still got the smile painted on. My jaws hurt at night, I'm smiling so much. But on the inside, my compass is off. It's hard to concentrate. The other day, as I was pardoning that nice Norwegian lady with the pot plants, I accidentally called her "Suzie" a couple of times, before Peter gave me the look.

And backstage with Kerry, I didn't have a thing to say to him. You know it's bad when Wyden's the life of the party with his knock-knock jokes. Then Kerry started in with his Neil Diamond impression. It was pretty awful.

I've got to pull myself together. The natives are getting restless, and that little weasel Jack Roberts isn't helping. He's running against me already. I'd like to regulate the noise levels coming off that guy's wind farm, if you know what I mean.

--Posted by Ted at 12:49 am.