I think I wore my clothes both backwards and inside out.  Turned my desk and chair around.  I doubt I walked backwards in the hallways, and I’m not sure who started it.  Backwards day.  I know how "opposite day" originated.  "You know Mrs. Zlokhower, I think you’re the greatest teacher."  Then in a whisper to your friend, "It’s so opposite day."   But who came up with backwards day?  And why?  I’ll tell you why.  I’m doing it today.  Because it’s fun.  I awoke and ate dessert, and before I fall asleep tonight there will be breakfast.  Maybe a waffle with some scrambled eggs.  I love breakfast for dinner.  I’m not sure how useful backwards day is, but it is fun.  I think too often in my life lately, I’ve been focused on what’s productive or useful, but sometimes it’s just about fun.

Here’s what’s not fun.  I’m actually sick in Austin.  It’s hot as balls out.  You’re not supposed to get sick in this weather, yet here I am, shacked up in bed.  I’m bored (and bored leads to boring, or is it the other way around?) and can hardly even stand the television anymore.  As soon as I begin to read, I feel guilty that I should be writing.  I’m currently in the middle of three writing projects.  The Pilot.  Book Two.  And an article about miscarriage and abortion for the UK.  I feel too sick to write or read or do much of anything.  Which seems backwards to me, because this isn’t me, it’s a pale imitation of me, in bed, beneath covers.  Booh.

It could be worse though.  I could be in New York, with this as my highlight: "This evening from 6pm to 10pm there will be a number of swim wear designers showcasing their 06′ lines on the roof at Bed.  Over 60 models wearing bikinis, silk beach scarves and tops, and dozens of one of kind hand painted items will be on display.  You must rsvp to gain access to the roof."  I’d rather die.