I’m soggy. I wish someone could pick me up, wring me out, give me a good shake and hang me up on a clothesline to dry. I need the bleaching power of the sun.

My birthday was last week, and James was in town, and it’s seemed like every night was a reason to celebrate. I also just love birthdays, love the absurdity of it, all that attention. I was trotting around all night on Friday telling people it was my wedding night. I am now so full of sake, champagne and beer that I am likely still drunk.

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Edit – I’m now back from several meetings and feeling less thick-headed. I don’t have much to say here, but I’m feeling bad about neglecting ‘my writing’ since the program ended and am determined to get back in shape. Consider this me wheezing on the Stairmaster.

I’ve been trying to be productive. An easy way to do that is to pay my bills, which I’ve now almost completely done. Electric, Gas, Vet, done! Sailing out the door. I love the crispness of it, the thick bold lines of a check mark. Done.

Next week I leave for LA. Will I be productive, sitting side by side with James on our laptops as the bright California sun streams in through the windows? Will we pick oranges and wear sunglasses and take photos next to palm trees? Will we drive around in his VW and play all our old favorite songs? I’m already imagining the trip in retrospect, as a series of photographs I’ll upload to my flickr and stare at wistfully years from now. That’s one of my problems, I think. I’m always anticipating things in past tense.