Say I am You

by the Weepies is a great album. And, I know, my musical taste has wavered from the "good" in the past, but seriously, people. I listen to this album and I'm torn between standing in the wind with sun shining down on my face and immediately running home to pick up a paint brush. Both feelings are of absolute joy. So go. It's on iTunes. It's ten dollars well-spent.

In addition to listening to this album nonstop while I work at the highest volume possible through my headphones (which is remarkable, honestly, as the IT guys here ROCK and gave me killer speakers for my machine since I work late so much), my life this week has been pretty nondescript. Work. Sleep. Whining we don't have peanut butter. Or bread. But being too lazy to in fact get such things.

Yeah. That covers it.

I have also been scouring my closet for what to wear to the wedding next weekend. I know it sounds ridiculous - but I feel like I'm entering a time in my life where I have to look at things and make the call - too young? I mean, seriously, it's weird. I don't like it. But it's true. There things I should no longer wear as I am too old.

Eeek. It kind of hurt to say that. But it's true. I'm a little lax in how I define these things, but sometimes I just look and think um, only appropriate if someone else has to buy your gin and tonic. This might be less a reflection of age as it is of snobbery. Funnily I'm more okay with the snobbery than I am of the adult-ness of dressing my age. Anyway, I'm wearing this cute little dress I have I love, but it's on the verge of being. Hm. Not me? Too young? I'm not sure. But I've been putting a ridiculous amount of thought as to *how* to wear it and if it will all be okay in the end. And it will. In that way that anything you wear to a former lesbian's catholic wedding is okay.

Mostly.

Anyway, as you can tell, I'm feeling a bit scattered lately. I have a concussion which is funny. I hit my head Thursday night and by Saturday morning I was curled on the couch almost crying from the headache that had settled in my SOUL and then Saturday when we went out to dinner I forgot what I ordered and had an inner hissy fit for fear I would not get THE WORLD'S GREATEST FAJITAS EVER because I had ordered something else by accident.

It might be important to point out right now that in the five years I have lived here and ordered dinner at this restaurant I have never, not once, ordered anything else. But Saturday night? I was convinced I had ruined my meal because I couldn't remember what exactly I had ordered.

And I found this totally normal. It wasn't until I called my dad to ask how long said headache should last before I should probably ask someone with, you know, a medical degree about it and then regaled him with my weekend activities that he mentioned that short-term memory loss wasn't exactly NORMAL and what I had, according to my descriptions of my weekend in all its glory, was a concussion.

Good to know.

SO I've spent the week popping Excedrin and putting off calling the doctor. The knot on the back of my head has gone down, I'm no longer falling asleep at 7pm and I remember what I had for lunch. SO things are good. Or at least approving.

And, PS, I'd like to thank David Leigh for technically giving me said concussion when he made me laugh so hard at the baseball game I was forced to tilt my head back with great force to let my guffaw properly tumble from my mouth, landing on the metal post that separated our field box seats from everyone else's.

And PPS, I'll blame the Tribune since they were their seats. And Sam. And John C. Just cause I can, as they were there and it's possible they were involved in whatever I was guffawing at.

Um, yeah. Have a great weekend, poppets! And make sure you buy this album. It's tops. Though you may want to wait til next week when I'm not concussed to take my advice on purchases. It's your choice.