You will be happy and excited to hear that in my inability to do an actual real job, I've been writing. The good news is, I've written the lyrics for all but one song for Act One. Bad news is, there's like eight songs in Act Two I have yet to begin. Oh, and I've got complete melody lines for the show opener and the “Mayoral Moritat.” So, like, yay.

So, I started today by reading _The Kite Runner_, which had way more butt raping than I ususally like in a novel, and ended it with “Me and You and Everyone We Know,” which had NO butt raping and was exceptionally lovely. So, that's a thumbs-down on _The Kite Runner_, and a see-it-immediately on “Me and You and Everyone We Know.” And then, call me on the phone and just say, “macaroni.”

Don't really know why I'm posting, other than the fact that I've been up since 4 this morning and the cats are tired of me hunting them down for kitty hugs. Dad and his significant other arrived yesterday; we're off to Boston today. I hope to sleep all the way there. We'll see.

Boy, do I pick the right week to get fired or what? Praise Jesus for looking out for me. Amen.

Well, it's a good thing “I've decided to stop bitching” about my job on my blog, as now I no longer have one, and imagine not only losing your job, but your material. I mean, really, the double whammy? No way, LBJ.

There is thunder, but no lightening, and the air is as sticky as blood.

Isn't it interesting how all of those yellow “support our troops” ribbon magnets have faded to white?

So, one kind of nice thing about pregnancy is I'm getting my psychic dreams back. Yes, “back.” In high school, I used to know when I was on an even keel because I would dream about what would happen the next day. Deja vu was never a weird feeling for me, because I knew that I'd been there before, just the night before.

It never worked when I was upset or stressed out, though, and I haven't had a prophetic dream worth noting since I moved away from Allerton Street.

Apparently, though, the progesterone in my body has whacked me back into shape. Psychic shape, that is. Except now, I'm dreaming about what's going on with other people, which frankly is a bit more interesting.

It started a few months ago. I had this dream that our store manager and her sister couldn't get a taxi home after working late on Saturday night, so they walked to my place instead. We piled into my car (in my dream) and I was driving them home, but on the way there was a riot and we had to ditch my car and travel through the storm tunnels. I finally got them to where they needed to be, and then realized that I was totally screwed, as I had to get back through the tunnels to find my car.

The next day, I talked to Roni. “How'd it go last night?”

“Pretty well,” she replied, “but the taxis weren't running after 1 a.m. so my sister and I had to walk home.”

Doo dee doo doo, doo dee doo doo… My boss chalked it up to mother's intuition, but I knew in my heart it was more than that.

And then last Tuesday, I dreamt about my dear friend Katherine, who I haven't seen since my wedding although we've kept in touch. Katherine's pretty cool, but I was surprised in my dream when she showed me her tattoo, which was the size of my hand and located on the front of her calf, near the bone.

“Geez, Katherine, that must have hurt!” I said.

“You think that hurt? Look at this,” she said, lifting up her shirt, pulling down the left cup of her bra and exposing another tattoo, this one of scars and barbed wire that spoked out from the tip of her nipple and radiated along her breast over her heart.

The image was so grotesque that it woke me up. I called her the next night, out of fear that her heart had been broken. Instead, I spoke with her housesitter — Katherine often travels for business, and was in Switzerland that week. I think I freaked the guy out a little bit, letting him know I'd had a dream about her and to let her know that I called and I love her.

(Katherine's comment later: “yeah, he was kind of freaked out, but, you know, he's a guy.”)

Katherine called me this morning and left a message — I was too asleep to answer the phone, but I called her back immediately after listening to her voicemail, which said that it was “kind of freaky” that I'd had a weird dream about her.

Freaky, indeed: on her flight to Frankfurt, Katherine had to hook herself up to an oxygen bottle, after nearly passing out.

“I'm going to the doctor on Wednesday, and all I have to say is, if I have to have heart surgery, I don't care if you're in labor, you need to be there for me, because you called it,” she said.

Further updates as bulletins and prophecy warrants. Cue “Twilight Zone” theme again… and… out.

So it's Thursday, another day off, didn't do any writing on Liz Estrada, my musical, but tomorrow! For certain! And work on Friday night and Saturday night and Sunday night. We're doing Show Tune Sunday again on Sunday night and it is going to be a bright spot of my week. I need to learn a song from “Avenue Q,” and “State Fair,” and I need to learn a couple more lines from “Springtime for Hitler.”

You know, how sometimes you think your life is a drag and then you read something like this?

Exactly. Thanks Becky for posting the link. And I loooooove your new photo on your blog. Looks like you've been adorable from day one.

Oh, and I got new books from Katie yesterday, who was going to take them to the book pound. I rescued “The Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency,” “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” and “The Partly Cloudy Patriot.” The detective book was as fluffy as Katie had promised. I'm looking forward to “Tehran,” especially because once we conjoined our libraries, Brian and I learned that between us, we had three copies of “Lolita.” I saw Sarah Vowell, author of “Patriot” speak at SJSU, and she's hilarious. I think she was also the voice of the daughter in “The Incredibles.”

Did I mention that another reason why I'm not bitching about work anymore is that I'm 99% certain that lucsious works for me? And no, honey, you can't be my daddy. Already have one.

First day off in a week today. DH and I celebrated by going to see Batman Begins, which was FABULOUS and inspired a glee reaction in me the likes of which I haven't experienced since my wedding day. In other news, I've decided to stop bitching about work on my blog. DH asked why, and I replied, “Because it's like kissing a pig.” He cocked his head at me, and I explained, “it doesn't accomplish anything, it's not that fun to begin with, and besides, it annoys the pig.” He told me he loves my barnyard metaphors. Funny, but that's the only one I think I have. 🙂