Image by eclecticlibrarian via Flickr
The book situation in the apartment has finally reached critical mass. Roger and Sophia told me that I shouldn’t bring any more home, and so I’ve declared a moratorium on new book acquisition until the end of the year. Of course, it’s not a complete moratorium, because there’s been a couple that I’ve slipped in under the radar, or for Sophia or Roger themselves (surely that’s okay, right?).
I haven’t seriously updated my LibraryThing account in ages. But I did get a CueCat, and that makes entering books a snap. I was amazed.
Now that my panic attacks have subsided (seemingly completely—I haven’t had one in weeks), I’m eager to get back to work on organizing and volunteering.
What do Pedro Almodóvar films and I have in common? We’re both a little strange. The past couple of weeks have been really nerve-wracking and I’m beginning to feel that I’m on the verge of my own nervous breakdown.
I’ve been having panic attacks with greater and greater frequency, which is highly unusual for me. I don’t really understand what causes them—well, I sort of do, but that doesn’t mean that I understand them. I’m the kind of person who performs in front of crowds of people with little or no stage fright, so why, all of a sudden, would I become terrified of speaking with my parish priest, who I really like? Of course, this makes no sense, but panic attacks have little to do with rational thought.