Okay. These are the things I need to tell you.
1. David Foster Wallace is dead. And oh, how that just sucks. Sucks! Agh! Jeff is now reading Girl with Curious Hair, and I’m spending a lot of time thinking about the night we saw Mr. Wallace at a reading many years ago. He was terribly sweaty and he couldn’t drink enough water and he read from a book he was working on titled Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. And he was so funny and so smart—one of those guys you just sort of want to be around. (If you’re not familiar with David Foster Wallace and you can spare six minutes, go here.)
2. Last night I experienced a really bizarre sort of sensitivity in my fingertips. Shut up. I know! When it came time to change the sheets, I could barely stomach the thought of touching them. As I lounged in bed reading, I could barely turn the pages of my book without wincing. I’m one of those odd people who hates touching food unless it’s covered in some sort of crust, so I’m sort of used to a bit of weirdness. (I’ll make the occasional exception for Doritos, but don’t ever ask me to eat hot wings without the assistance of a fork and knife. By the way, I’m closing in on the Vegetarian for Two Months mark. Release the doves!) Anyway, this morning I’m able to touch things without wanting to vomit, so back to business.
3. As of today, I’m once again a freelancer. My latest (and possibly greatest) assignment is to mimic nurse and doctor handwriting on medical forms that will eventually become part of a hospital simulation for medical students. This morning I went out and purchased pens for the project. And the purchasing of pens is pretty high on my list of Things I Love to Do. Adding to the excitement is the fact that this morning handed me a little touch of cardigan weather. It doesn’t get much better than this.
4. On Friday, I’ll be participating on a panel (Hey! Where can I purchase some P stock? Purchasing of pens! Participating on a panel!) that’s part of the St. Louis Interactive Festival. (I’ll give you more details later this week if you’re interested.) Also, next weekend is my 20th high school reunion. Anyway. Last night I had a dream during which someone from my graduating class handed me a beer bottle full of spit right before my panel was set to begin. And I drank the spit before I realized it was spit, and everyone was laughing, and as I made my way to the stage, I realized that my dress was all ripped out on the sides, and I muttered something into the microphone that I thought was sort of clever, but it ended up stirring up major conflict between Black Hockey Jesus and Laid Off Dad.