It's amazing to me how having "nothing to do" keeps me so occupied.
This weekend my mom is running the LA Marathon. I can't run down the stairs without losing my breath and clutching my skipping heart. And my mom will run 26.2 miles. Standing ovation!
In the meantime, I will stand on the sidelines (surely not being able to find her in the crowd) screaming, "Wahoo, Mom! You Go! Bring it Home!"
(And to make matters worse, Katie's also running. So, between the two of them, I hang my head in shame, returning to this chair, where I am most comfortable, with the cozy space heater pointed directly at my ankles, keeping me warm and snug at every moment while I avoid activity and obsess about pixels, samples, and properly punctuated journal entries.)
And you should know that in my spare time I've been having anxiety dreams. Last night's dream involved being roommates with another musician who refused to talk with me, so I spent the dream skulking...trying to be invisible. I dream about rejection a lot. Rejection and rabbits. And sometimes elevators that fly.
The End.
T.
