I’m pretty certain that pollen is killing my soul, if such a thing exists (a soul, that is, not pollen. Pollen, unlike intangible ideas, shows itself in a neon hue on windows, cars, buildings, benches, and other things unfortunately placed within its path too often to doubt its existence.)
For example, while my head has felt like it might burst for a couple of days now, I have been getting things done. A new story idea? No problem. Working on my resume? Stressful, but I’m getting there. Catching up on reading? You bet. I’m sure you see the pattern.
…but today, just no. I woke up early to finish something that absolutely had to be done. I spent four hours typing a few words at time, getting up, blowing my nose, banging my head on the desk, googling keywords that I can’t remember that lead to articles like “How to Disappear Forever” on eHow. How does one even get to that point without having committed some heinous crime? I don’t know, but it’s sad that I learned how escape to Bermuda while living under an alias before I finished writing two pages.
It’s done now, though, so I am going to lay here and stare at the green residue from my window. We’re all going to get through this, people.
Thanks to the people who wished me a happy birthday! It has been lovely. I have had to prepare myself to enter back into the grind tomorrow; however, the trip to the museum and being lazy and watching television was totally fun. Now, I await the return of Mad Men. It’s about time.
Here’s hoping that twenty-three has more to offer than its predecessor.