I should, my readers, be hard at work, on this second day of my week of work. It is 9 AM. I have a book manuscript to finish. Book manuscripts are very important indeed.
But see, this week, I've somehow fallen into an epistolary and telephonic... something... that I don't quite know how to handle. And no, it's not some weird phone sex or internet sex thing, as that's what my friends asked me when I told them about the first conversation, so don't get that idea. No, it's like being 15 and staying on the phone until you're so sleepy that you're actually wired, and like there isn't enough time to say all of the things that one might possibly say, and... oh hell, I can't write more about it than that because it makes me feel very stupid and also slightly embarassed as the person with whom I've become involved in the something is going to read this and then he's going to laugh at me (in a very darling way, but still). And I thought about not writing this post, as the fact that I know this person will read this post makes me feel a little self-conscious, but dammit, I'm not letting some strange man dictate the contents of my blog. That would just be letting the terrorists win, right?
Ok, this post might not make sense, but remember: I was on the phone until 4:30 in the morning. I don't even know how to explain why I'm awake, as really I need about 4 more hours of sleep.
You know, I think this might be the fault of the red journal, that something actually is going on in my life besides work. (Of course, it's an imaginary something at this point, but whatever - it's still something and something I can't quite pin down which makes me very uncomfortable indeed.)
Ok, I'm sick of this cryptic post. I have to go lie in my bed and moon and brood for a bit, as apparently I've regressed 15 or so years over the past 3 days.
6 years ago