Wow. If my bedroom were a reflection of my emotional maturity I've taken a huge step backwards. About 13 years or so. I can't believe how it got so bad. Maybe it was the second couch in the middle of the room that made me give up all hope.

I might be cracking under pressure... first the room... then muscle control (well, those last three binges (I do mean binges) with work (do mean work, too) included a lot of physical exercise which has since caused me quite a lot of pain in my atrophied muscles)... then skin health... (I didn't know skin could DO some of the things mine's been doing lately)...

plus... I think I'm getting even weirder. More obsessive, I've never been obsessisve... this is strange indeed. No more obsessiveness! Stop obsessing about being obsessive. My obsessiveness is a blimp on the overall obsessiveness-scale... For someone with an obsessive/compulsive disorder. (OK, now I'm lying obsessively, quit it)

Anyway. Couple of weeks and voila: Vacation. And I'm leaving off the partying. After Gríman, I'm going to Gríman Friday. (For you foreigners, Gríman is an awards ceremony for Icelandic theatrical life, sortof like the Academy Awards, minus the movies, plus the theatre, minus the level of difficulty to get in... and quite smaller). WhatamIgonnawearwhatamIgonnawearwhatamIgonnawear...

OK, so after Friday: Chill, dig out the basement and bake a cake for my niece's Christening on Sunday. Very Martha Stewardesque. Although, to be fair, Martha would never have let things get so far out of hand. Then again... she did get thrown in jail. So, I win. (Minus the millions of dollars and throngs of crazed fans.)