I'm a high school lover.

I haven't quite decided if I'm amused or fascinated or frightened that I dream in ipods and livejournal entries and e-mail. I guess I'm all of the above. Last night there was an amusing guest appearance featuring mintwaster riding the bus with me.

The fluid has moved from the back of my head and throat to the front of my nose. My voice sounds foreign to me, as the echo has changed in my head. I'm not sure if I sound funny to others or not, but I'm self-conscious either way. It's jarring to open your mouth and not hear yourself, the other side of the coin to hearing your own voice on a tape recorder. But symptomatically, I'm doing okay. The congestion and a little tiredness, but nothing I can't ignore or rather push past. I'm not even taking wellness formula since I took it a lot last week and I don't want my immune system to become dependent on boosters.

( money talk. cut because it's boring but I'm trying to keep track of things for myself. )

I'm wanting to streamline lots of things in my life lately, including my possessions. I need to go through my closet and pull lots of clothes to giveaway. I have lots of records to giveaway too. I'm holding off on CDs because those I can sell and save those for times when I'm more strapped for cash. But I think I will go through my library now and pull books to sell, especially if we end up moving soon because it will be less weight to carry.

When not fixated on my lifeplanning, including starting my own website, finishing my advice column to pitch, making a CD sampler to get DJ gigs, and researching literary submissions, I'm reading Monique Truong's The Book of Salt. For some reason I didn't want to like it. The premise was too....premise-y (woot! I'm a writer!) and the musing of the narrator were somewhat self-conscious. Except, so far, I love it. It's beautiful and amazing, fifty pages into it. Hopefully it will stay great.

Hell is round the corner where I'm from.

Out. of. control.
That's how I feel. Not necessarily in a bad way, just in a manic way. And it is making the afternoon go faster, I suppose.

I forgot to mention that after getting some frustrating feedback from my writer's conference earlier in the week, I've since gotten some really great critique from other folks. Of coruse, now I'm so sick of my own story, I don't even want to think about it for awhile. I might not be narcissistic enough to be a writer -- I start to get bored with my own words and lose perspective. Though it's probably just because I'm reading eight people's comments on my story, in addition to having my own.

thebrownhornet is coming by the office then we're hanging out tonight for dinner and catch-up. We want cheap, but not flash taco cheap, so I'm going to finally try out louche's recommendation for new york pizza slices.

Sadly, I had a reason for posting that was not related to any of the above words, but I can't remember because I've been distracted by a thousand other things.