Oh, it gets so lonely when you're walking

and the streets are full of strangers

Ten or so times in the last month I have woken up in the middle of the night with thoughts of some client the first thing on my mind. By the time I realize I have woken up there are only bits left of whatever brought me there. Right now it's 4 am and I woke up thinking about a certain mom and "I can't. I can't. I can't."

The St. Renegade moving through the waking world is all love, all positive, all feeling, but apparently Sleeping St. Renegade is not as convinced. I honestly don't remember what, specifically, I was thinking I can't do. Is it as grandiose as "I can't help this woman"? Or as concrete as "I can't write that damn report on time"? Both of which are true, by the way.

While no one around the office has mentioned waking up in the middle of the night to an internal soundtrack of failure and bad luck, the problem of excessive worry about clients has been discussed. The answer is vacation. And thankfully, thankfully thankfully, another round of paid Jewish holidays is coming. I will spend two whole days sewing and napping before Easter, work for two days, and then off to California, where I am going to lay on the beach and have the sun bake all of this out of my head.

I say we go to Venice Beach with some bongos and hair beads and just see what happens, you know? I know some bluegrass songs, Cheese can sing them lazy SoCal indie rock ballads, and we can rollerskate in caftans like Fletch in the movie.

Right now I am going to change my noise machine to "waves." I am going to take an antihistamine. I will be cruising the beach in minutes, and listen up, internal sense of self hatred and failure: you can't stop me.