Yesterday, I got a delivery from my book club, with two of the four books I recently ordered. I started one of them at work, and quickly got so caught up in it that I couldn't put it down. Luckily, it was a moderately slim volume, and I finished it before work was over.

A Celibate Season (by Carol Shields and Blanche Howard) is the story of a Canadian family in the late 90's. The husband is an architect, the wife a lawyer. They have two teenaged children. Just before the book opens, the woman accepts a temporary position as legal council to a governmental committee. This position requires that she travel from their home in Vancouver all the way to Ottowa for at least ten months. The two of them decide to write letters more often than phoning (for many reasons), and the method of the book is printing all the letters that they write over the course of their "celibate season."

I frequently have trouble with letter- and diary-style books, because I'm not very conscientious about checking the date before each entry, which can make things confusing. But I loved this book. Never mind that I didn't understand any of the references to Canadian politics (and a couple of actual events which would probably date the book for me if I'd heard about them). The story of a couple learning that even a temporary separation means more than just coping with a lack of sex - and events that stretch their marriage right up to its breaking point - was beautifully conceived. I won't tell you any more, because I wouldn't want to spoil anything for you if you decide to read it.

Naturally, it made me think. What would I do in their situation? Would I even agree to a job that would take me away from Matt for ten months? Probably not; I've known for years that I don't function very well when I'm alone, and now that I've had the luxury for several years of a wonderful partner, I don't know if I could do without him for more than a week or so. Well, I probably could. But it's certainly not something I'd choose to do voluntarily.

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I had a sortof rotten day yesterday. It started out just fine - reasonable day at the office, even if I'm not getting the work I was promised, but at least I know now that I'm not the only one, and I had this book to occupy my time. I got my Mode Magazine last week, and that's usually good for about a week's worth of personal confidence, so I was walking tall. I decided after work to go shopping before I went to my Weight Watcher's meeting, and I actually found this outfit that I had lusted after on the size-4 Sara last week, in my size! And it looked - I must say - great on me.

But I realized as I was taking it to the register that it was off the only rack in the store that wasn't on sale, and the ticket read $70, which is more than I can really spend for an outfit that I won't wear very often because it's dry-clean only. So I woefully put it back on the rack, and went on to Weight Watcher's.

I knew I'd been sortof bad on my diet last week, so I was expecting to have gained about a pound, but instead I'd gained two. I was shocked, horrified, and disgusted. Which, of course, opened the door in my mind for the little voice that hates me, and it came in and shoved all of Mode's fantastic self-confidence right out my ear.

You have no self-control. No will power. You're fat and lazy and always will be. You're incompetent at work, too - they haven't given you any work in the last six weeks because they don't have anything easy enough for you to do on your own, and everyone else is tired of babysitting you. You know what you are? You're worthless, is what you are. Worthless on a diet, worthless at work, and worthless at home.

By the time I got home, I realized that my choices were to take the black magic marker we've been using to label packing boxes and scrawl "I am worthless" on the apartment walls, lay down on the bed and cry for an hour, or to try to distract my brain. I picked up the marker. But then my voice made the mistake of sneering at me, so I put it down and called K.T. instead. She talked to me for two hours while I made dinner and waited for Matt to get home, and she cheered me up. Then Matt got home and hovered a bit. (He hates it when I get depressed. Lucky for both of us that it never lasts very long. I'm glad he wasn't there when I first came home.)

Anyway, I'm feeling better today, but I still haven't recovered that feeling of self-confidence I had earlier in the week, which is too bad. It's a fantastic feeling, and it's the reason I paid for a subscription to Mode Magazine even though I never use any of their fashion tips. Maybe I'll recapture it eventually. Each time I get it, it lasts a little longer. And I'd figured out - oh, years ago - that attitude, carriage, and self-confidence had a lot more to do with whether I thought a person as attractive than the size of their jeans. If I could get to where I have that confidence all the time, then I don't think I'd need to diet.

Oh, well. Maybe one day...