tgif redux

Yes, the weekend beckons. It seems very long already. I actually don't feel super fantastic. Just called Ulti-med to see if they would refill my antihistime without me coming in. They said no and sounded a little suspicious. That's probably something meth addicts try to pull but, in this case, I just feel congested. I'll try to soldier through. I have no desire to go back to the doctor and I'm not taking anymore antibiotics. At least not this month.
Last night I went to hear Sun Volt which was OK. I wasn't blown away, which was odd as I usually love all live music. But, again, wasn't feeling totally up to snuff. I did really love Hundred Year Flood. I think they are just an amazing band and Felecia Ford has one of the most incredible female voices I've ever heard.
Tonight I'm going to see Syriana, which I've heard is really good but a bit confusing. Given my brain is firing at almost zero neurotransmitters per second (science girl!) I will probably fall asleep in it.
Tomorrow, the guy I'm dating has suggested we buy a Christmas tree.
Ahem. Tomorrow night is the SFR office party. This would be fun and relaxing, although I do have to go and buy the gifts for all the freelancers sometime before showing up, which means entering some kind of store a few weeks before Christmas.
I should get my nails done. They are a mess; I look like I've been working in a coal mine.
Today I went to a kind of ladies who lunch writing thing. Ladies who write and lunch thing, that is. Lots of great people there. Miriam Sagan, Sharon Niederman, Joan Loghe, Carol Moldaw. Sarah Lovett. It was really nice. I felt happy to be there. Less happy to have to bolt my food and run back here but, hey, this is the life I have chosen. I should stop complaining about it all the time (although I might have considerably less to say if I did; or maybe I'd just have different things to say).
Sunday was supposed to go to The Nutcracker w/ Jen & her twins but we couldn't get five seats together. I used to go to The Nutcracker every year practically when we were kids. At Lincoln Center, even. I had a priviledged childhood in many ways; there is no question. Culturally, for sure. And in other ways. I HAVE NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT. Is this some kind of instant-adulthood setting in? Is it love? Is it the early warning sign that I have another sinus infection? Why do I feel basically fine about everything? Today, Miriam and Sharon and Sarah, who have known me for so long it's getting a little silly, kept asking: "So everything's fine?" And I kept saying, "Yeah. I think it is fine." And then staring back at them with confusion as they stared at me waiting, I imagined, to hear some hint of the existential nauseau that usually marks any conversation with me. Maybe I'm just tired.
Or maybe all is well.
JOY TO THE WORLD.
Just kidding. I haven't gone that far over to the other side. And I'm sure by Monday some new evidence of the abysmality of the human condition will have manifested. My money, of late, is on some kind of garbage-bag scandal—I think it's the only type of scam that hasn't occured in government this year. And, you know, there's still a few weeks in 2005 left!
OK, have a great weekend. I'm going to try to do the same.