Still not feeling too good. Doing that sleepy-but-can't-sleep thing. V. annoying. May start journalling like Bridget Jones. ("0 units nicotine, 0 units alcohol, 2 units caffeine, 5 units Fritos. And birthday cake. Shut up.") Maybe not.
Keep thinking about Digest. Then thinking about it exhausts me, and I go lie down again. This is not good. Weirdly, I don't feel particularly depressed. (Quick interjection: thanks so much to everyone who wished me a happy birthday. 'Twas very sweet of everyone. J) But when I get avoidant about something, it takes a lot of heaving and pushing to get me back on track. Hmm.
Bookapalooza 2003: Today's book was Stardust, which Vladimir sent me for my birthday. For all this talking about Neil Gaiman (he's currently translating--I forget what he's translating. Endless Nights? My brain is shot. All I know is, Neil apparently liked his translation of the names. Destruction? Is "Smak." Which is so awesome. Everytime I type "SMAK!" now, just know that I'm bellowing "DE-STRUC-TIOOOOON!" in my head in a total Transformers voice. We now return you to your regularly scheduled journal entry), I had never actually read one of his books. I have Stardust and American Gods and Endless Nights now, but I wanted to start with something light while I was feeling glumpy, so we went with Stardust. ("We," she says.) And it was great. Beautifully illustrated, too. My only complaint was that things wound up a little too conveniently at the end, but I won't get into that here.
Would it be completely lame of me to wear my $8 Nenya to ROTK tomorrow afternoon? And my bookmark-dangle One Ring on a chain around my neck? Because, let's face it, opening day only happens once. I'm no Jason, but still...
All quiet on the poetryslamming front. Guess I'll find out how that went down on Thursday. I think my poems, uh, sparked enough discussion that the mod hasn't felt any need to mention my entry again.
Anyway, going to try to sleep now. Or play solitaire all night. Or something.