Typing With Fingernails; in which RDB Tries to Catch Up

So, due to some strange quirk of the time-space continuum, it appears to be the middle of November. Past that, even, the third week, Erev Thanksgiving. What is strangest about this phenomenon is that RDB appears to have missed the ending of October and the beginning of November all together and is beginning to feel she will never catch up. Perhaps it's because she stayed home from work sick on Halloween, the official demarcation? Perhaps it's because Novembers have not been so good for her in recent years so she hopes to avoid the month altogether, preferring a sort of alternate-reality extra-long October month of denial?

Well. Here we are, Thanksgiving break (thank god) and a few days at home with nearly no plans, after an entirely crazy seven-days of Big Events and Running Around. Last week I was in San Jose for a conference and flew home back home back to LAX on Saturday afternoon, took the shuttle service back to Van Nuys to my car, and went straight to Orange County for rehearsal for a show with my dance company. I drove down with my friend Scot, who drove while I napped. I woke up at some point to say: Where am I, on the plane? No, wait, am I on the bus? No, wait, am I driving? Scot cracked up; I fell immediately back asleep.

That's the sort of November we've had so far, and perhaps that's why we feel the way we do, slightly disconnected from everything. The way insomnia is described in Fight Club which I, appropriately, stayed up until 3:30 this morning to read: the distance, the copy of a copy of a copy that reality somehow becomes sometimes. When you aren't sure where you are, it isn't so hard to become confused about when you are.

Anyway, it does still somehow appear to be the middle of November. I'm not sure when that happened, but it did. Happy Thanksgiving.