You'll Have To Say That Again

So I have something that has been distracting me lately. I can't tell you what just yet because I am that superstitious. And because I'm a little nervous about the whole thing. It's amazing how something totally controls your mind, leaving you little concentration to focus much on anything else.

I have the attention span of a young puppy. I'll start to say something, take a sip of whatever I am drinking, or even cough or sneeze, and then forget what I was even talking about.

One of the qualities I was most proud of having in my last job was my ability to remember everything. A client could call me for the smallest task or the simplest question, and if I didn't speak to them again until they called again 5 months later, I'd remember their situation vividly. Not anymore. My recall is shot.

But oddly enough, dreams I remember. I've been having really weird dreams. One night I had a dream that I was running from Saddam Hussein (a kinder, gentler Saddam, but still somewhat dangerous.) Another night I dreamed that I visited my brother at his new job for Reebok and all the employees were dressed to the nines, except that they were all wearing Reeboks. I thought that I could never work for Reebok because I wouldn't want to dress up everyday, but the idea of wearing sneakers was tempting. My brother doesn't work for Reebok. I have no idea where that came from.

Last night, two bloggers were in my dream. I don't want to reveal any names for fear of freaking certain people out, but here is how the dream went. We lived in an apartment complex that was laid out like a college campus and I was on the phone with one blogger and asked this person if they could babysit. They lived on the other side of the complex and I couldn't give them directions to where I lived because I had no idea where my building was in relation to theirs. I went outside and asked the first person I saw (who happens to be the other blogger) if they knew, and since they did, got on the phone and gave the first blogger directions to my building.

These symptoms are expected I guess.

September Musings

Sunday I turned 31. It's weird having a birthday on 9/11. For the past four years, my self-imposed birthday ritual has been to watch the morning remembrances on television. Usually family members reading names. For the past three years, all the local and national news stations dedicated a decent portion of their telecast to the memorials. This year, they all took a back seat to Katrina. Another devasting tragedy. Another time to stare blankly at the television set amazed that scenes like that are unfolding. Another reminder how fragile human life can be. A former co-worker called me today. "Hi Jodi, it's Leslie. I just wanted to wish you a late happy birthday and to let you know that I thought of you on September 11th." That just sounds weird. She thought of me on September 11th. For some reason, I find that very humbling.

My company is finalizing the sale of the office building, so I'll be working from home soon, possibly by the end of November. I can't wait. I thought I would miss the office banter and the comraderie among all of us on a daily basis, but the thought of ending my commute and the random annoyances of the building are too awesome to want to pass up.

The Doberman's are working their tails off (pun intended) in getting their house revamped FINALLY. They're not demolishing and starting over, which I thought they would. More like taking down a wall, putting up a wall. This week they removed the vinyl siding they had done only weeks before the fire and the windows in their side room (if you scroll down the pics in "Meet The Dobermans", you'll see what I'm talking about) are completely gone. That side room (last pic, room in front of the garage) now looks like a cardboard house with big square holes cut out for the windows.

I have news, which I can't disclose just yet. Maybe you can guess, maybe not. It has consumed my mind lately, which is why I haven't been updatng or commenting on your blogs.

And thank you to Jodi for promising me a mix CD. She makes them for her friends, and she so awesomely offered to send a few to her readers. I used to make mix tapes when I was in junior high, so when she put the offer out there, I couldn't help but beg for one. Okay, I didn't beg, but I would have.