a gift hoarse
That's two bad animal spelling puns in a row, there. Whoa, Nelly.

So, after way too nice a weekend, I seem to have lost my voice. I don't really feel that bad but I sound horrendous, like I swallowed a cactus, or a rasp, or a bunch of razor blades (speaking of swallowing razor blades, is anyone else in the world besides me and my roommates watching Carnivale on HBO? Brother Justin and his black eyeballs is/are the scariest, scariest, scariest character(s) to ever come out of a writer's head. We watched part of "The Shining" this weekend and it didn't even hold a candle. Brother Justin is creepier than the redrum kid and Jack Nicholson combined.)

I left work early today, drove home, had some tea, slept for two hours, got up and worked on the novel for four uninterrupted hours. I wrote through a part that had really been bothering me -- I'm not sure if I'll keep it, but at least it's out of my head and on the screen. And if I were able to speak, namely to call people on my cell phone, I don't think it ever would have happened.

Sometimes it feels like we just have to figure out the same few lessons over and over again. (If I believed in fate or "larger plan" or what have you, I would have written that setnence as, "Sometimes it feels like life just teaches the same few lessons over and over again.") I need to remember to carve out space for writing and other things that require mental quiet. Mouth closed, eyes and ears open, settling the extrovert down a little and encouraging the introvert to come out. I'll still be calling all of you back just as soon as I can talk again, because it's not like I can really live without that, but remind me to make time for this too so that I don't have to learn the same damn lesson that I've already learned 400 billion times 400 billion MORE times.

In the meantime, while I am still silent, take a look at this. I read it at the gym this morning and have been thinking about our one-man Rorschach test all day.