Anyway. This week. At the end of this week I'll be 35. Which feels like it should mean something, if only because my weird number/color brain likes the way 3 and 5 feel together. Green and red. It's a lot of contrast, but 3 and 5 go. I always like a year that goes. That's about the extend of how my synesthesia manifests. Silly mental number preferences. But there you go. 35. Me.
I'm hoping this is a light week. I'm certain that the reason I got sick Sunday is that last week was a ridiculous amount of work for one person. I forget, always, that this time of year is rough on me at work. I forget, also, that saying yes to a lot of things means you have to make good on those promises. Though I'm better at saying no, I'm not good enough at it yet. And since I'm making room for a lot of yes when it comes to book reviewing, the other yesses took every waking moment I had to myself last week. I got cry-tired. That's never good.
Anyway, that's enough blogging about being busy. I apologize. Here's what's up.
This week, I'm:
Reading Jac Jemc's book, A Different Bed Every Time.
Listening to The Stranger, and a little bit more of Dubliners.
Writing revisions to two short stories I've workshopped recently. It's the first week in a long time when I'm not working on a book review. I hope to take my notes from my writing group and do some good with them. Writing fiction feels like playing, right now. I'm excited that I have some time for it this week.
Watching the rest of The Good Wife on Hulu, if I can swing it. I'm at that inevitable point I get to with streaming TV shows. I like it, but finishing has become more about finishing than personal enjoyment. It's another thing to cross off the list. I know I'll feel better when I've watched them all. I'm not saying it's not good, but my Type-A personality has made this into another to-do list item.
Making cookies disappear.