Les Miserables de L'Katness, Old Acquaintances, And A Spanish Prancing Horse Who Resembles No One In Particular

First of all, pardon my truly disastrous French.

Nadir: You'll need to learn it sometime to be a proper Phantom.

I know that Nadir, hush up. Well, why is Kat miserable? Have you ever had a really really dreadful sore throat, the kind that almost makes it hurt to breathe? Kat has, and does. Misery. And Luke's stolen my laptop for school so I can't work on my stories that are on it, although I'm finally getting to the good bits in This Next Encore, which is my current favorite story I'm writing. Allow me to repeat myself: Misery.

Dear Gaston, I sound whiny. Sorry. But Kat is thoroughly depressed by this. Though I may seem irrepressible at times, I am merely a human sort of Phantom, and something as simple as anything can bring me down several miles.

Er, right. Last Saturday I attended m'dear friend Mickey's Bat Mitzvah, which was quite the enjoyable thing. At least there were no squirrel butterfly dancers with pom poms for head like there were at Ori's Bar Mitzvah. Outside, because it was at the Equestrian center, there was the Fiesta of the Spanish Horse going on. No, I am not kidding.

The Fiesta of the Spanish Horse. I watched for a bit, with Max, sort of crashing the party and peering over a wall. Then they brought out a dancing horse, or a prancing horse, as Max saw it, and it began to prance.

There was something disgusting about this enormous, beautiful animal being forced to do a silly dance for the benefit of cretinous people who think they're being ethnic and fascinating. I began to understand why Erik stole Cesar from the Opera stables in the Leroux novel. Gods, it was a gorgeous animal, and it's idiotic trainer made me rather want to smack him.

So I'm one of Les Miserables for today. Probably Eponine. I feel tragic and heroinic. That is absolutely not a word. Actually, I'm probably quite a bit more like Gavroche.

But the point is that I'm miserable.

I'm not getting you down at all, am I?

Life. Don't talk to me about life.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.