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ahream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a mystery writer living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my short story, "Running Venice," in the new anthology LAndmarked for Murder. Look for it in bookstores and on Amazon.com now. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often. |
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Read/Post Comments (4) Most Recent Twitters: Reading Tony Broadbent's book, The Smoke. It's too good. I'm losing sleep. Nocturnal pattern shot to hell. Productivity declining. L.A. Finds: The Denver omelet at Pat's in Topanga is sublime in its simplicity. Exactly what you need and nothing else, much like the restaurant itself snuggled smack in the middle of an old hippie community where the peace signs and tie-dye still reign. Flickr Updates: The second Thursday of every month is the Downtown Art Walk. The galleries stay open late, the restaurants are packed, bands perform on the streets. God, I love L.A. What I'm Reading: The Smoke by Tony Broadbent What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami Want E-Mail Updates? Click here, type your e-mail address into the first field (for public entries) and receive an e-mail note each time a new blog post goes up. (Photo updates, Twitters and "L.A. Finds" features not included. Those you have to swing by and check yourself.) Absolutely, positively no spam. Promise. Other author blogs: Sue Ann Jaffarian Eric Stone Christa Faust Lipstick Chronicles |
2008-04-20 1:32 PM Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds I’m not sick. I’m not sick. I’m not sick.
Mantra failed. I’m sick. I’m a sniveling ball of mucus. I’m producing snot in such quantities it’s only a matter of time before it saps all moisture from my body, leading to possibly fatal levels of dehydration. Of course, it’ll take some time before anyone finds my body. I’ll be lost for weeks underneath the sea of snotty tissues rising around me. Fortunately, I have plenty of energy to clean those up. I am, after all, high as a freaking kite. Several months ago, my husband had a mystery illness that turned out to be mostly stress-induced, but for awhile, allergies were suspected. He was instructed to take a rather large dose of over-the-counter allergy/cold medicine every day. It didn’t help and caused some unfortunate side effects, so he stopped. And we were left with enough high-octane cold medicine to alleviate damn near anything, possibly including leprosy. I’m not generally one for too much medicine. A bottle of ibuprofen goes bad around here before anyone gets around to actually taking it, but after two days of mucus and very, very little sleep, I caved. I took the high-octane stuff. Thirty minutes later, I felt much better. Much, much better. I felt so good, I took a shower and then I got dressed and then I put on some makeup and did my hair and cleaned the bathroom and vacuumed and did the dishes and dusted the baseboards and took out the trash and sorted the recycling, and then I hooked up the wet vac and shampooed the carpeting. I would’ve dusted, but I ran out of time. My husband came home. He looked around and then at me, and then he laughed. A lot. “You took the allergy stuff, huh?” “Yes!” I was very enthusiastic. “And I feel grrrrreat!” “You feel high.” “Noooo…I feel fine. I’m getting better.” It’s possible I started grinning like the Joker. He shook his head. “That stuff made ME high, and I weigh twice what you do. You’re loaded.” I looked around at the apartment and tried to remember the last time I’d shampooed the carpet. I’ve still got this cold, and I’m still taking the medicine, which is why I’m going to dust and do laundry and mop and go to the grocery store just as soon as I post this. After all, I don’t get sick very often. Have to take advantage of it while I can. Read/Post Comments (4) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top |
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