I'm trying to write my novel but all you do is play.

Today is One Of Those Days^TM. I feel it in my chest, all the emotions are right under my skin, I can hardly move, I want to crawl back into bed and assume the fetal position and not leave it all day.

Some of this is that I haven't written this week, and I'm starting to finally put it together that its not this feeling of paralysis that causes me to not-write. Its not-writing that causes the feeling of paralysis. Perhaps this doesn't make sense or seem like enough of a differentiation, but it was a groundbreaking realization when it happened.

Or maybe I just need to quit this freelance job. Or at least blow it off this month (and let them know as such). Because I'm able to successfully bargain with myself to get up and do other things, like go to the grocery store and get quarters for laundry and return books to the library, and in exchange for getting a good chunk of reading done, I would watch a movie with lunch. These are all useful things. Its not until I think about having to go to evanston that my minds starts to shut my body down to be uncooperative. The couple hundred bucks a month is useful, especially given how closely I live paycheck-to-paycheck, but still, even so, maybe its not worth the mental effects. I already have two jobs, having a third (that's only 12-15 hours a month but a pain to get to as its far away) is not worth the stress, especially given that I could probably just start showing up to my office job 15-30 minutes early each day and the extra time on my paycheck would be comparable. I guess I've figured out a solution! I just need to write that e-mail to the people in England who employ me, explaining that I won't make this month's deadline, and offering my resignation as well as my services to help find/train a replacement because hey, one more paycheck would be good. Also, for the most part, this job has been good for me and was my first freelance gig after quitting Lambda a few years ago, so I like to keep my work karma flowing in positive directions. I'll handle that part after the trip to the grocery store.

Approximately 3 years ago at this time I was going down the back steps to take the dog out in the early morning, I remember I was wearing a favorite hooded sweatshirt and my grandpa sandals and pajama bottoms and a full cup of coffee, and my foot slipped out completely from under me and I landed on my ass, with coffee all over me. I had a giant bruise on my right cheek for weeks, it seemed. Or maybe just because it took nearly 5 days for the bruise to rise to the surface. Anyway, this morning, I was wearing the same sandals, and slipped in the same way, but this time I had no mug of coffee, so my left arm reached out for the railing and I landed primarily on it, and now I have some strange bruising near my tricep, or more like a burn almost, from clinging to the rail and sliding down a few steps, catching all of my weight.

I need to get rid of these damn sandals.

Happy birthday anjibobanji!

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I look at the picture of you and Leroy everyday, as it is displayed in my office on a shelf above my computer, along with most all the people I adore who live in California.