Frantic thoughts. I'm like an over tired child right now, not wanting to go to sleep, except that I'm an over tired adult not wanting to go to sleep. Keeping Mitch up next to me with the annoying type type type of the keyboard.
This trip has been fun as shit. But I'm also hitting the skids of not eating healthy enough, not stretching, not writing, not having my routine. Staring at Mitch's face for ten hours a day. (What more can we talk about at this point? I forget about third things (very stupidly). I keep trying to dredge the well of how we're feeling, of deep thought. When really we should talk about our favorite birds or something. Get a goddamn hobby, Amy. Some interest of some sort. Welcome to our thirteenth year of marriage.)
Met an Olympic gold medalist today. She's one of the guests staying in this bnb.
Reading Alice's posts from the Fringe. She sounds as frantic as I feel. I'm looking forward to seeing her show and meeting her in person. I wonder how tall she is. I bet she's kind of short. Lots of people are kind of short in real life.
I haven't done any writing. I will probably be a loser in front of Lizze. I've just been taking the vacation.
Finished mainlining The Trespasser by Tana French. She is drugs to me. The mystery is good. The over-thinking and analyzing of behavior is intense. Exactly what I would like to be an expert at -- both in writing and in person. I'd love to be able to read people with a high degree of accuracy. People are the scariest things there is.
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