The morning sky was stormy and grey but the sun had broken through by noon, although it never did get warm. Someone left a yellow bag tied to the front door – a collection bag for the ARC or some such – and I kept forgetting it was there until it blew into the frame of the front windows and Cleo barked at it. Die yellow bag, she says.

I spent the morning battling for the funding of a loan. It is now funded and not, all at once. Specifically, the funder likes me, so funded it on paper to save the lock, but the wire won’t go out til morning. Is it possible to both love what you do and hate what you do, at once? I’m GOOD at my job, but it’s no longer rewarding.

In church on Sunday there was a dour grey-haired old lady in a shiny pink polyester dress – she looked so much like Bubbie with her wispy grey hair and her dusky olive skin, and apparent fragility. I wonder if she, too, had a core of steel.

I’m in tax hell, having waited this long to do a P&L on my income and expenses. The good news is that the outlay for new printers is giving me a loss on paper, which will offset stray 1099’d income from other sources. I COULD amortize the equipment, and allow for depreciation, but I don’t need to, as there won’t be any misc income next year, since I’m not originating, merely processing.

There’s just no way to make tax talk remotely interesting.

Or death either.

I am loopy, not drunk, not high, but my brain chemistry is all out of whack, and the world feels like it’s alternating between spinning too fast and spinning far too slowly. Images blur, becoming the indistinguishable Dali-esque crowd of parents watched by their children on the carousel, as they check between giggles to be certain Mommy is still there.

My sleep patterns are skewed crazily, and I found myself awake at 6 AM, then all abuzz from high notes and weird meter in songs at church, then caffeinated, antihistamined, wired and tired all at once, and now, after a failed nap, intense afternoon lovemaking, and a nap that succeeded, I have merged with the sky.

When I woke at 10 PM to the ringing of the phone, the air felt taut like the skin of a drum in the split-second before the mallett makes contact, and the boom resounds. In the two hours that passed between then and my ultimate succumbing to cravings for protein (peanut butter toast and cold milk), there were murmurs of thunder, non-committal lightning, and rain that came and went with such stealth that only wet dog footprints on the kitchen floor and a mating pair of geckoes on the deck were any evidence at all.

Sometimes I feel as if the eyes I’m looking through are not my own, but not anyone else’s either. Watching David Duchovny on Inside the Actor’s Studio, I have a name for the feeling, a definition, rather, it’s the feeling of looking through a mask.

If you rip the mask away, do you find another mask, or do you see only muscle and bone?

Have you ever had a moment of personal Epiphany, when your mind and heart and soul are in perfect accord, and you click with the universe and all creation, and experience a moment, a flash, a microsecond of total enlightenment and just when you realize that you Get It and It Is Simple, you breathe or move or blink, and the moment is gone, and you are bereft, left with the memory of the clickage that had occurred, and a gaping hole where the elegant solution once resided?

I have.

You know you’ve got an overactive imagination when you’re working on a piece of fiction for a contest, and wind up scaring yourself.

I really need to learn to write in nice, bright sunshine.

With a balmy breeze blowing through the open patio door, I spent a lovely hour or two puttering in the kitchen this evening. We’d both stayed up too late, been awakened several times in the wee hours by dogs demanding access to the yard, and then had to get up earlier than usual, and we’d both napped away much of the afternoon.

It’s been a while since I’ve cooked on weekends – usually we go out Saturday evenings – but I’d defrosted chicken breasts yesterday, which didn’t get used, and didn’t want them to go bad.

I’m not a chicken fan, but I have a marinade that turns chicken into something I not only enjoy, but crave. It’s easy to make: whisk together mustard, soy sauce, a tiny bit of cooking or olive oil, garlic, and a splash of vinegar. Coat the chicken in it, and then broil til done (I coat the flip side after I turn the chicken half way through). Sometimes I remember to plan ahead, and marinate the chicken overnight, but generally I don’t. Once in a while, I add a raw egg to the marinade – it makes it stick better, and makes the chicken a bit crispier. (We always use skinless chicken breasts).

I was craving tabouleh, so we had that, as well, with wonderful crisp cucumber and tomatoes that were a little on the under-ripe side, but not bad diced in the salad. Tabouleh means “spring” to me, with the refreshing combination of mint and lemon juice.

We watched The Thirteenth Floor while we ate. Great movie. More on that another time.

Afterwards, I sliced strawberres, bought on impulse when I did the grocery order on Tuesday night. Fuzzy loves strawberries. I’m allergic to them, but had taken an antihistamine, and decided to have some anyway. I was a little overzealous with the sugar, but I don’t use sugar all that often, so I’m not broken up over it.

My evening ended with sweet berries and smooth coffee, the later splashed with milk, the former warm and filled with the taste of warm weather and more balmy evenings.

I love spring!

It’s evidently been quite a while since I posted a reading list, so I’m posting a quick wrap-up of everything I’ve read since the first of the year.

I haven’t been reading much this year, so far, spending more time than usual with my own words, and with classes and things, but I’m in a reading mood now.

Books are listed in order of completion. Reviews can be found at Bibliotopia, my book blog.

* * * * *

Memoirs of a Geisha, Arthur Golden
STTNG: A Time to Be Born, John Vornholt
STTNG: A Time to Die, John Vornholt
American Gods, Neil Gaiman
Kushiel’s Dart, Jacqueline Carey
Kushiel’s Chosen, Jacqueline Carey
STTNG: A Time to Sow, Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
STTNG: A Time to Harvest, Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
Foucault’s Pendulum, Umberto Eco
In Her Shoes, Jennifer Weiner
On Writing, Stephen King
Almost, Elizabeth Benedict
Outside Lies Magic, John R. Stilgoe
Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis
The Cloister Walk, Kathleen Norris
Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, Kathleen Norris
Bitten, Kelley Armstrong
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation, Lauren Willig
Dancing at the Edge of the World, Ursula K. LeGuin
V, A.C. Crispin
V: The Pursuit of Diana, Allen Wold
V: East Coast Crisis, Howard Weinstein & A.C. Crispin
V: The Florida Project, Tim Sullivan
V: Prisoners and Pawns, Howard Weinstein
V: The Crivit Experiment, Allen Wold
V: The New England Resistance, Tim Sullivan
V: Death Tide, A.C. Crispin
V: The Texas Run, George Proctor
Just a Geek, Wil Wheaton
Stolen, Kelley Armstrong

After two weeks of feeling drugged and tired, I’m now hyper and wired. This would be great if only my muse was ALSO hyper and wired. Alas, it is not so.

With all the cool Friday night Sci-Fi shows on hiatus, Fuzzy and I resorted to watching horror movies tonight. Well, resorted isn’t really the word. I’d been planning all week to sit on the couch and indulge in watching Wes Craven’s New Nightmare on AMC. (I’d have preferred it without commercials, and with commentary, but it seems ridiculous to PAY to rent a movie I’ve already seen, when I can watch it for free on television.)

When I was eighteen I wanted to make horror films. I still have the *best* recipe for stage blood ever, and I learned to scream from the Linnea Quigley Film School (it was a series of tongue-in-cheek spots on MTV one October).

Tonight, though, rather than grabbing the video camera and plotting a home-made horror film, all I can do is sit here thinking that it might be helpful if I could get Freddy Krueger to slash my inner censor to bits.

One can wish.

Tomorow, the writing will go better, I’m certain.

I say… And you think…?

1. Renewal:: urban
2. Someone to talk to:: confidante
3. Count:: Dracula
4. Expiration:: date
5. Upload:: file
6. Publish:: or perish
7. Holy:: week
8. Change in the air:: spring
9. Titillating:: flirting
10. Glorious:: sunrise

Like this meme? Play along at LunaNina.com

O sleep, O gentle sleep,
Nature’s soft nurse! how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
—Shakespeare: King Henry IV, Part II, Act III, Scene I

I haven’t been to the gym in almost two weeks, and I miss it, but I feel totally and utterly fatigued, and, as is usual for me, while my body is screaming, “Sleep, sleep, sleep,” my brain is racing, filled with words and images and I scramble to capture them, only to lose focus as soon as I touch pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. It’s frustrating.

And when I do manage to sleep, either the dogs usurp my space, or the temperature in the bedroom is completely wrong, or I don’t even have good dreams.

I mean, if I’m going to go to bed at midnight, I should at least get good dreams out of it, don’t you think?

I’ve been in a serious reading mood, lately. That should be interpreted not as Serious Reading mood, but serious Reading Mood – as what I’ve been reading is mostly fluff – brain candy – but entertaining: Kelley Armstrong, Trek novels, and a lovely book in the vein of The Scarlet Pimpernel which is one of my perennial favorites, anyway. If you’re really keen to see what I’ve been reading, my reading blog can be found at Bibliotopia.

I’ve spent the last two weeks working on the loan from hell. The borrowers are sweet and are friends of our family, but a miscommunication (not from me) caused me to have to restructure the deal at the last moment. I hate that, because it means I have to call in all sorts of favors from the lenders. We are, however, having Dan’s Chocolates delivered to their office as a thank-you gift. Bribery works wonders.

I’m off to update the book blog, and the zen blog, and then, maybe, to sleep.

Or maybe not.

Every morning when they’re let outside, my dogs race to the farthest reaches of the back yard, and do their business. Then, they saunter back, pausing in the center of the deck to sniff the air. Their little noses quiver as they taste all the different scents and flavors – traces of gecko, evidence of birds, the lingering essence of last night’s rain, or morning fog.

This morning, I took a lesson from them, and after I brewed a strong mug of chai, I went out onto the patio to taste the air. I sat in my favorite lawn chair, even though there was almost no sun, and watched the wind chase clouds across the sky, and then, watched the sky begin to darken into the beginning of a storm.

The storm never came, but that half an hour of fresh air and cool morning breeze blew a smile onto my face.

I’ve taken a lot of small breaks from blogging, and from writing at all, over the last month.

As of today, the break is over. And the goal is to update this daily, the other blog at least weekly, and the book blog as I finish each book, rather than when I remember, so that I don’t end up posting seventeen books in one day.

* * * * *

In other news, confirmation was beautiful and powerful, but I don’t have words for it yet, specific words I mean, and even when I do, they’ll be posted elsewhere.

I ended up wearing my alternative outfit though, because the slits in the skirt flashed a bit too much thigh when kneeling.

And then, last night (Sunday night)was our last meeting (a wrapup meeting of the class), which was anti-climactic, and I find myself missing the discussion already, even though I am sort of glad to have Sunday evenings back.

* * * * *

I’m sitting here on my freshly-laundered nautical bedspread, contemplating a shower at three AM, even though I’m tired, because I’ve spent the entire evening doing laundry, and I feel like my hands are coated with chemicals from the dryer sheets and stuff. Also, it was sheet changing day, and it seems a crime to slip into clean crisp cotton sheets without being equally clean. (Yes, I’m weird that way).

* * * * *

I am hereby requesting everyone who reads this to nag me about finishing the piece I want to submit to All Things Girl, and about submitting a short story to Kelley Armstrong’s contest. Please? Apparently I really need some level of accountability.