I want to go hide in the stacks the way I did as a kid. I�d gather up piles of reading material and find the most secret corner I could and pull out my contraband candy (sweetarts and spree were my favorites. And fun dip. Still are, come to think of it) and read in the cool, stale library air. I long for that.

But I�m heartily sick of words and reading and writing. I�m out of phase today. I feel like I flinch each time someone comes up to talk to me (because, contrary to yesterday�s post, I am at work. Of course I�m at work. I�m such a guilt-ridden fraidy cat that I, in fact, came in EARLY because I felt so silly thinking that I would actually use some of the sick leave time I've saved. I ain't punk. Not even a bit. Damn). I wear my headphones as if I were listening to music or the radio but I�m not. I�m listening really hard to silence.

I have other things to say, thoughts are pulling my brain to pieces today, sloshing around and materializing like the swamp monster in the mush swamp of my mind. But I�m going home for lunch right now and I�m not sure if writing down any of this will help. I may try again later. I may not.