Congested, not suffering.

Two days before my birthday, I am feeling symptoms more than anxiety: sore throat, runny nose, sinus congestion. Either I have a cold, or I've developed allergies for the first time in my life. No big deal, whichever the case. I've been being productive. Besides the fact that I have gone from zero to blog in less than two weeks, I've managed to get a start on Hypersomnia, the dream journal portion of this online endeavor, and have mapped out plans to include other writing as well.

It occurs to me that I'm going to have to learn HTML to pull this off with any flare.

Ah, well. I need another sunny project. The simple fact that my days are actually filled with energy now rather than depressive, low grade self-loathing is all that I need to know about my relationship with the evil day star.

I need you, my little ball of nuclear flame. I really, really do. Never leave me again.

I've also got my entire passport application finished, photos, supporting documentation and all. Step one towards New Zealand is almost completed. It turns out that my semi-regular physician is in Africa, off doctoring of all things (the nerve), so I'm going to have to find some other chump to notarize my pictures and forms. Apparently, you can get your vet to do it, which is just about the most sensible thing I have ever heard. Did I say sensible? I meant absurd, but I'll take it. Ah, Rue, you are the most remarkable of feline companions.

Off to see Moby this evening, which should prove interesting -- though I would rather see him sans the congestion. Heavy bass reverberating through plugged nasal passages can be rather uncomfortable. Ask any former raver.