Well, my thanksgiving angst is resolved, but for an annoying reason: not going to the island because I'm still too sick to run a half-marathon. Actually, I'm still too sick to frickin' walk to the bus stop without tending rather to the horizontal, forget running ANY distance. Sigh. I'll probably feel better by sunday, but I'll still have missed like 10 days of training and be barely out of the weak as a kitten stage.

Well anyway! There's a half in town I can do in november instead, and I'll go off to the island some other time. in the meantime, I get to sing at church with Awesome Guest Conductor (assuming my cheese grater esque voice trades places with its evil twin normal human-sounding voice between now and tomorrow's rehearsal), I get to have thanksgiving with my family (my immediate, blood family. boy's family are family too.), I get to study for my midterm, and uh.. I get to trail off long run-on sentences because I'm still all fevery delicious.

I'm back at work, anyhow. Beware clients, your financial affairs are being managed by someone who nods off and starts having fevery hallucinations about once an hour! Okay, well, your routine address changes and other tasks that a monkey couldn't screw up are being handled by someone still well above the monkey level. No worries, ha ha, where's my freaking vitamin C.

I saw Spirited Away last night. Holy crazy. That was so, so awesome. And so cute. And so bizarre. "Why it's the radish god! Hello sir!" Hee. Japanese children's films are the greatest. There's all this common culture and mythology that is totally foreign to me, so they're all like crazy drugged hallucinations. It's completely excellent. They're like wonderful surreal dreams that you can remember in detail.

Oh man, I sound like an oyster. Well, like I imagine an oyster would sound like, which is basically an underwater version of Tom Waits. My voice is all gurgly and sandy. And cranky. I always figure oysters must be cranky. They have this sand irritating them for years as they make pearls, and either they have it FOREVER, or they're hauled up and cracked up and tossed aside or eaten or maybe just dropped by a seagull on to some rocks. Man. It's just not the dream vacation of the 90s, my friends.

I totally forget what I was talking about and rereading it hasn't helped. Time for some tea! Cheerio! Tra la!