Sabbatical

As I prepare to depart for my next show, my mind has started to operate in either a more disorderly or more pristine fashion--depending on how you look at it. Yes, I walked into a glass wall today at TD Bank on Montague Street after using the Penny Arcade and waiting in line for 20 minutes to get my 20 dollars worth of dimes. Yes, I haven't slept more than six hours a night for the past few days, my thoughts maintaining an awareness too keen for rest. A child walked by me on Harrison Street two days ago carrying a red balloon. "I don't like you," she said, staring up at me. My gmail account has started to talk to me--"Is He Avoiding You?" Astrology.com wants to know. "Entertaining is Scary," it announces half an hour before a small group of my friends will appear on my doorstep. Pandora chooses to play Trouble at the same moment. "Do you want to take the GRE?" an ad on my phone asks. itunes reveals that I've listened to a particular song 34 times in the past four days. It doesn't have the count from my pod. Doesn't matter. Wrong. Yes. No. OCD. I anticipate that this blog will experience a temporary disruption as I settle into Dial M, and hopefully into the Dial M Blog. Dial Mlog. Dialogue. Am I a one blog kinda girl? We'll have to wait and see. And in the meantime, Margot Wendice's perfume makes my heart beat a little faster. . .