When you're safe inside your room, you tend to dream

I'm floating around in a dream state as if I don't have a hundred things to do in the next three weeks. Otherwise I wouldn't have slept for three hours in the middle of the day yesterday, because I'm sure the anxiety of deadlines would have woken me up. Now the reality is creeping in a bit more after a leisurely morning of coffee and poking along at the computer. The greyness of the days isn't helping to motivate me -- it's hard to believe it's nearly 11 am when the sky appears to be pre-dawn. Likewise, when it's twilight blue at 5 pm, it's hard to not give up hope on the day being productive because nighttime has arrived.

Though I did get out of bed at midnight last night to write a letter to the President. Unfortunately, that doesn't pay.

But I shouldn't complain, since my tasks for today include reviewing a porn movie and doing research on a timeline of the history of queer press. Tomorrow I can complain, since I'll probably be stuck in a library in Evanston all day.

I want to write more, but I'm out of time.

I want some happy honeymooning.

I had a little panic attack this afternoon. Or more of an anxiety attack. Or more of that shutting down thing where the last thing I want to do is engage with human beings, much less talk about what's going on. All I want to do is not talk. Of course, then I talk about it for five minutes and feel better. Well, that and crossing items of the to-do list which initially induced the anxiety. I still have tons to do, but I'm not currently panicked which means I'm not currently doing it. That's the thing about anxiety -- like anger, it can fuel staggering results in the productivity department when channeled effectively. Much like facism. What? I don't know.

Today was my first day with no binder AND no gauze pasties over my nipples. All of the scabs are gone and the skin on my incisions has healed and smoothed over (though of course they are extremely dark red and prominent). And they hurt. All of them, not a lot of pain, but a little bit of pain over a large surface area. I mean, it makes sense -- just because the surface of a cut has healed doesn't mean the deeper part of the cut has healed. It's fairly mild and inconsistent, but it sort of builds over the day.

Now is the time for copious application of cocoa butter. My new trick is to melt the stick a little with my lighter so it glides easily over my skin. Then I walk around all day smelling like brownies.