Red Shift

My sister once said to me "you know, if you pinch that Achilles' heel long enough, you're going to develop a callous." It seems to me that I have finally done it, have willfully sought soul blisters so often that I can no longer be injured there.

Of course, Valancy contends that the one great weakness is what made me human. Perhaps that is why I feel so hollow now.

[A side note to Val, who I know will read this eventually: don't worry about it. I am *fine*. In most ways that matter, this is a relief after many years of tension.]

Christmas With the Vienna Boys Choir

Coffee always turns bitter when I brew it, or even if I stand near the coffee maker. Apparently, the gods have decreed that it must be independently prepared and served me by someone else, whether a waitress or Valancy.

This dependency on others' willingness to oblige me is somewhat vexing, because I love coffee with a fiery intensity paralleled only by my passion for tea. (Tea I can brew very well on my own, but tea is a day drink and coffee a night drink and never the twain shall meet.)

What if a desert island style scenario were to arise in which I was left alone with an infinite supply of coffee and coffee makers? I fear it would directly analogue the Twilight Zone episode wherein Burgess Meredith breaks his glasses. (At least I think it was Burgess Meredith [aka "The Penguin"]. I always cry over that ep.)

My psyche has rallied a great deal since my last entry. I accredit this to feverish knitting and repeated Army of Darkness viewings. These represent my two most powerful forms of stress relief: bad movies and repetitive physical tasks.

On second thought, perhaps it is inaccurate to call them "stress relief" as they often add to the anxiety of those around me. At least this time it was needlework instead of juggling, lighter tricks, playing with fire, stapling things together, skipping rope, or fishing out my old drumsticks. And it does not hold a candle to the legendary nine hour Fearless Vampire Killers marathon.

Speaking of Roman Polanski, my friend Kim is going to have a baby any time from now. She is currently dilated to three centimeters.

I know five Kims, three of whom are romantically involved with assholes named Josh. The two who are not go by "Kimberly." People never take me seriously when I rant about the importance of names, but I think the evidence has borne me out.

Anyway, Val and I are on call. This is made particularly strange by the presence of Val's retainer. Her teeth have shifted a bit in the past few months, so she's wearing it constantly until they reform. In return for her consideration, it gives her a pronounced lisp and more to the point makes her look at least six years younger. I, on the other hand, look as though I've aged fifteen years in two days. It makes for a decidedly peculiar vibe.