Roshani's birthday!

Hiya. Hope you guys are having a good weekend -- mine has been weird. I've been churning through work all morning, which is good -- haven't really stopped since 7:30. And I had an idea for how I'm going to do the next Sri Lankan Cycle story, which is terrific; I've been stalled on that for a while. And I think tomorrow I'm going to take my computer and my grading and go to Borders; I'll probably try to revise "Sister Mary", because I have a story due to my teacher tomorrow. (Self-imposed deadline, but important to try to meet anyway). And tonight I think I'm going to do one last revision of "A Gentle Man" and send it out to Glimmer Train, so that's exciting. I should really be very happy -- I'm being productive, and work is going smoothly, and I miss Kev but things are good between us...and I'm not.

I'm just anxious. All day. Much of yesterday. I have no idea why. This is driving me crazy; it makes it difficult to read (though I did *finally* manage to finish Rushdie's Midnight's Children, which was an unalloyed relief -- not a bad book in the end, but self-indulgent and tiresome in many places) or concentrate on much of anything. Typing helps more than anything, oddly enough. I guess I have to concentrate so much to compose that it's harder to be anxious. Or maybe the anxiety is due to a feeling of not having written in a long time (which I haven't). I don't know, but I don't like this at all. I took my thyroid medicine, so it's not that. I've eaten. I've only had one and a half mugs of tea, so it's not an overdose of caffeine. There's nothing wrong, so why the heck do I feel this way?

Argh. This is what happens when you take someone who normally has a sanguinary character and mess with it; we're just not equipped to cope.

Yesterday, I took an hour-long bath and read; that helped some, though I kept wanting to climb out and do something. I definitely don't feel like reading now, though. I wish I had a friend that I could go on a long walk with; a half hour walk would do me some good, I think. Paul and Marcia and Jenn and David actually went for a hike today, but I have enough work that I couldn't afford to take out that much time (being ill last week reallly put me behind). Maybe I'll call someone on my cell phone and chat with them as I walk. It's not the same, though. I want a hug.

Okay, enough pathetic-ness. Really, everything's fine, and there's no need to feel sorry for me. That's what's so weird, though. Meep.

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