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SENSES WORKING OVERTIME
1. Nasty aftertaste following every meal
2. Blurry eye syndrome
3. Disturbingly frequent need to blow nose
4. Slight, but encroaching, deafness in one ear
5. Unsettling inability to come up with, among other things, sought-after words, titles, names

Every day is a dark dive through the winter hours. Seemingly ceaseless rain speckles the window. At work I bubble like a watched pot; people lining up outside the glass front of my office, pacing 'til their turn. One needs an article proofread, another an HTML created, the phone rings and it's the creation of emergency animated web banners on the line. Deadlines approach, LOOM, fly by—ready or not. Below the surface there is the sly sidle and jig of office politics; I try and stay above that dance, peering over the edge and occasionally getting my toes wet but rarely taking any splashing plunge. A meeting goes over time, so far over I sit nearly wriggling in my chair with impatience to be gone, back to my desk, back to the list of projects that are calling me with voices that start out faint but get louder and more demanding with every passing moment. When we are finally released I practically bolt from the room.

I imagine that if I were a cartoon character, I would wind up one leg, cock my arms and suddenly ZIP! disappear while my shadow stays behind for a moment before zooming after me in a cloud of dust. By the end of the afternoon, however, my zip is zopped. I pull on scarf, coat, purse. Flip off the light, shut that glass door with, disconcertingly, only MY reflection in it, turn and walk away.

Stopping by the village store on the way home I get into a discussion with Rosemarie, the owner, about how time is flying. Her daughter is pregnant with her second child and I boggle for a second that her first granddaughter is 4 years old already. Wasn't she just born last year? Rosemarie asks me how old MY children are now. "Martin's 8," I say, without thinking, "and Karin's 7 and a half." A few seconds later I realize that would have meant that I was pregnant with Karin BEFORE Martin was born and I backtrack in my brain and my conversation. "Good grief," I say with astonishment, "He's NINE." I'm shocked at my sudden inability to process such things and laugh a little too loudly when I realize I could easily have said my OWN age wrong. How the hell old AM I, anyway?

Oh yes, of course! I'm 29.

The Kind of Trend I Like to See: Cancer deaths drop for second year

Really Great Writing Out There Right Now: Wanting to deam
 tired
mood: tired
music: Doobie Brothers—What a Fool Believes
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Comments

Ahh, this fast paced life! The demands! The ouches.
I hope you are caring well for all those overworking senses. At least as well as you care for everyone and everything else.
Didn't have time to look at the links yet, but I'm sure the're good, as usual.
Thanks for being you. : )

Liz you sound as though you have an allergy to something perhaps? Not sure. But I hope the blurry eyes improve soon...

Yep, definitely. I had tests taken last week, hoping to get results by tomorrow or early next week.

I hope you get some relief soon, it seems like you've put up with this for long enough. *holding thumbs*

(Anonymous)

I loved reading this post for some reason. Loved getting a glimpse into what you do every day.

You and me and my daughter are the same age! I hope the rest of your senses fall back into line and return to normal. The age thing already is; distortions of another dimension where we're all still seven.

I can never remember how old I am and invariably I up the age a year or so, though this year I CAN remember. Sadly. I'd really like to forget.

Your brain fart at the village store reminds me of my father when he had to fill in forms with the childrens' dates of birth. Admittedly I come from a LARGE family but still he could never get it right and to my mother's mortification, he would often have at least three of us born before the date he putr down for their marriage! Mum always had to go in and fix up the mess. He never learned how old we were and was often shocked when we corrected him, letting him know that we were in fact 17 now, not 14.

I agree with Kirsty - allergy my dear. And maybe you are run down and a bit more susceptible to getting a reaction. I think Nurse Lambi is called for.

Me, too. When will she be arriving?

I would prescribe a trip to a warm beach with lots of sun and no offices...

It sounds lovely...sadly, it's not an option at the moment. :)

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