A Fleck on my Porcelain Skin

How do you write the sound you make when you blow air out of your mouth and your lips flap about a bit? Not like a raspberry, but an exasperated, weary raspberry? I just made that sound. It was accompanied not by an eye-roll, but lifting my vision toward the ceiling in exhaustion, leaning my head back and thinking about the vacation that would do me a lot of good if only I could afford it, the business would survive without me, I weren't a workaholic, etc. I'm grumpy. It's been one of those weeks, ya know? The kind where you've actually got a lot to be grateful for, but due to everyone thinking I can't keep my lips zipped about anything, I feel compelled to keep it all to myself (and yes, that's pride, more than respect to the others involved). And because I'm not talking my head off for a change, no one is talking back. My inbox has been filled with messages from my friends at dictionary.com and offers from Cost Plus World Market (and as nice as it is that they're having a great deal on imported wine, that doesn't make much difference to a teetotaler like me). I feel facebook neglected, and myspace rejected. I did get two wedding announcements in the mail yesterday, but the friend who promised to write me while away for the summer has yet to fulfill the promise in spite of me providing very attractive, masculine stationary for that very purpose. I'm productive at work, but almost to the point of resentment. I want to run away, but I don't know where to go. I guess if you don't hear from me for a while, assume that the old, vibrant, talks-too-much Rachel will finally give up and send word via message in a bottle from a deserted island