New York did not accept me.

I did not get into the ING New York City Marathon. Following my name, it says, "Not accepted."

You've been with me for months on this ... and have caught the smallest glimpse into the Seventh Level of Hell over the past month, so you know that not being accepted into the marathon is entirely consistent with the Seventh Level. In fact, really, honestly, frankly, would we have expected anything else?

So I know what you're thinking: Bev is going to fall apart now.

No.

We now go to Plan B.

You are intrigued. You ask, "Allrighteee then! What is that, Bev?"

I have no idea.

Just know that I'm okay. Now, following the lottery drawing, I'm going back to Hospice, where I will ponder life, death, and Plan B. Tomorrow, I'll come back to you with Plan B. Prepare to be amazed!