It is but a sigh of a thing.

The only reason I woke up this morning is because my arms fell asleep and I couldn't turn off my alarm any more. I was dressed and out the door in ten minutes. There is a sound in my apartment like a coffee pot brewing...but I have no coffee pot. I have thus concluded there is a coffee ghost in my house. I think this is the worst kind of ghost; it flaunts it's caffeination but leaves nothing, not even an aroma. It's an aural haunting. I have given my year's notice to my job. Go me. I have realized that my inability to say no is actually a disease. No really. I am in a conversation with my boss and I am listening to myself say, "I'm flexible" when I know I am not. I know exactly what I need to do and I still concede every time. This next year is going to be hellish and it will be my own fault. I need an intervention. But don't worry, I have given my years notice...so, you know, an end is in sight. I refuse to make any new paragraphs, this will be one dense, dense mound of words, my words, that you will have to sift through. Oh, I almost hit enter, phew, close call. I am waiting for a brilliant flash of light to lead me on to something in life. Inspiration. And rest. Right now I am reading Franny and Zooey and a Girl named Zippy, which I am enjoying immensely. You know what else the library is good for (I know I have said this before), cds! I just requested several of the cds I have been coveting and now they are in my cd player. I am in the midst of rehearsing for the Sound of Music, rehearsals every night. Every now and then there is a long and awkward pause of unexpected silence, usually when the scene is not set and there is no music to play and no one knows what is happening. The Sound of Music is amazing, I love this musical and, of course, I wish I was on stage. I would make a great Maria. I was recently asked if I would ever do a double wedding and my first immediate reaction was a resounding no. Of course not. I would be the center of attention and I would not share (except with my gentleman of choice). Just for the record. Unless there was some sort of Austen-esque series of events, where two siblings married two siblings after a dramatic case of mistaken identity, traumatic conflict, and a shipwreck resolved winningly by my own wit, beauty, charm, and most excellent jokes. And I would get to walk down the aisle first. Or last. Which ever would get me more attention. Second child much?