Into Darkness Again

My last post was my 100th. I feel kinda special.

The clocks got turned back Sunday night. I had a wicked headache during work on Saturday, and my back felt like it was on fire. Even the copyeditor asked me if I was okay-- "You look like you feel pretty bad." It was also pouring like a hurricane, and so it made my normally 20-minute drive into a 45-minute ordeal due to an accident. So I thought I could get an extra hour of sleep and was excited, but couldn't fall asleep because my back hurt so badly.

I ended up crawling out of bed and digging up the bottle of Vicodin from the summer's sprained elbow. I took a third of one and finally fell asleep. I'm beginning to realize that when Topper and I had that fall and when my back got screwed, it was permanent. The DO and the specialists haven't done anything, so I don't know why I'm surprised that every once in a while I can't sleep,

I'm glad I horde my prescription painkillers. The summer after my freshman year--four years ago--my arm got shattered and an infection nearly rotted it off. I rationed those pills until almost the end of my junior year.

Liz, Molly, Karen and I went to see Marie Antoinette on Friday. It was beautiful. The dresses kept making me wish I had one, or could go back then for just a few weeks. I know it was miserable--disease, filth, uncomfortable, horrible class distinctions, on and on, but how pretty and sumptuous those clothes of the upper class.

The time change has me kind of on edge. I can't explain it, except to say it's a good time to be writing. Last night was the kind of night where if I were at home I'd pull out my notes and do some review and work on my novel. Novella. Novela? One hundred pages still isn't really a novel.

My mother called on Thursday and I was telling her how I can't sleep regularly or well and hardly anything sounds appetizing except pizza and fruit. No wonder my sleep schedule is all screwy, I guess.

The bright side of Saturday is Erin is finally wired to the world again. I'd missed her since she got married. I don't know how to explain my relationship with her . . . she's about the perfect friend: you can drink with her, shop with her, dance with her, cuddle with her, talk about anything with her, and copyedit with her. And even though we've seen each other only a few times over a few years, but nothing ever changes. In some ways, she knows me better than almost everybody. She knows the deep, integral stuff about me, not the obvious stuff from day-to-day life. It's refreshing. I absolutely adore her, and it was exciting to know I can find her online again.

Dan wants to buy his bike by about Thanksgiving. He certainly has enough money saved. It's almost intimidating. I've almost got my credit card paid off--only $600 left to go.

The end is so close and so far away.