There’s a part in Julie and Julia, where Julie is writing on her blog, and wondering if anyone reads it.  Is anyone reading this?  Am I just talking to myself?  And then she promptly recieves a comment from her mother that says she’s the only one who reads this blog.  Hardy har har.  Mother, if you’re reading this, your comments are always appreciated, but as I’m getting more serious about this, I have to ask myself the same question.  Is anyone out there?

         It’s not like I’ll stop writing if I don’t recieve a comment, I just can’t help but wonder.  I talk to myself all the time, what’s different about this?  Sometimes I’ll find myself whispering or thinking aloud without realizing that I’m making sound.  I’ve heard some say it’s a sign of genius.  But I’ve also heard that it’s a sign of insanity.  I’ve also been diagnosed as a verbal learner, finding it easier to absorb information if I tell someone about it.  So, for whatever reason, talking to myself is as easy breathing, sometimes easier, so don’t feel obligated, but if you have something to say, whoever you are, I’m all ears. 

           I am currently a phlegm factory.  It was misery drag myself to the alarm clock, hitting the snooze button three times, only to drop myself into a strangling pile of sheets and blankets.  I haven’t been sleeping well lately, and I know this, not because I’m a light sleeper (I’m a sleepwalker), but because I’ve been waking up with half my bedding on the floor and wrapped awkwardly around me.  You know that part in the newest Parent Trap where the girls prank the cabin with tons of booby traps?  That’s what I feel like in the morning nowaday, slimy, crusty and tangled. 

          Well better luck tomorrow- maybe I can work on my morning entrances