Still not feeling good.

However, I took two Tylenol Cold & Sinus (or whatever) last night before I went to bed, and between that and the white-noise of my fan, I didn't hear anything in the closet that disturbed me enough to keep me awake. Got seven and a half hours of decent sleep, wound up dreaming about the world's most complicated Chinese buffet and cafeteria. Would've liked about ten more minutes to figure out how the ordering options worked but oh well.

Have written the outline and a bit of the dialogue for next WYGO segment. Still got liaison function class today. May write more dialogue. May write something else, as despite MORE Tylenol cold/allergy meds, I'm feeling wobbly and am not sure I can accurately render the Boys' tone in this state. We'll see.

Have bought two train tickets, one from NY to Canada on the third of July, one from Montreal back to NY on the eleventh. Would have waited for a seven-day advance purchase fare on Greyhound and bought the return ticket then, but the folks at the border are permitted to make you turn around and go home if you can't produce proof of means of getting back from Canada, and since I don't much feel like letting Homeland Security check my credit cards to see that I'm capable of buying a ticket back, I figured I'd just get my return ticket now. Amtrak's a bit nicer than bus travel anyway. You've got more room to sleep and if your knees hurt you can get up and walk around a bit. Yeah, it's actually slower than the bus, but I'll live. Last train trip to Toronto was 14 hours due to trouble at the border. I figure even if this trip goes smoothly, I've developed the hobby of knitting since that time. I can get a LOT done in that kind of time frame, even if I sleep or do other stuff for a while too.

Have been trying to get to my uncle's restaurant when ahmeemee and I go into the city on Friday. (I'm a Noo Yawkah, from Queens. 'The city' is automatically Manhattan.) Alas, Uncle Peter's booked up six ways from Sunday, and even if he weren't, he wouldn't be able to comp anything. It looks as if we're going to have to find another restaurant. blah.

Now, alas, I must go. Liaison class. Here's hoping the meds don't knock me out or summat.

The voices in my head are back again.

And, true to form, they did NOT tell me to kill anyone. Neither have they revealed to me that I, or anyone else I know, am the Lord Thy God. Or the Lord Anybody's God. Nor have they even been so enigmatic as to inform me that if I build it, they, or he, will come.

No, this time the damn voices have said, very clearly, "Buy two- possibly three- skeins of Lopi or Woolpak yarn. One in white, one in multicolour or some intense colour. Then knit another pair of slippers, this time to fit your father, and use the Norwegian Star and Labrador diamonds pattern you used on his mittens. And felt them."

They are highly specific, the voices in my head. Last time they came around it was to tell me that "You really really want to knit a sweater from big, thick yarn." And so I poked around on the web, and lo, Knitty.com had a pattern for a hapi coat, and lo, Treasure Island had Lion Brand Thick 'N Quick Wool-Ease in red, and lo, I knitted the Japanese Mountie jacket. Before that, most of the orders from the voices had to do with baking, or with merely learning to knit, or to make soap.

Like cadhla, I have a muse. Hers is named Jane, and she can tell you many things about her. I, on the other hand, know only this much about mine: she's an obsessive-compulsive Canadian bitch named Pamela with a tendency to leave messages rather than actually talk to me. Hence the highly repetitive nature of these impulses- which inevitably, weirdly, work out very very well indeed for me. They're voice-mails from Pamela. And they don't go away until I actually do what's in 'em.

(No, I don't actually hear voices, I just get repetitive impulses that are very hard to ignore, mostly because they are eminently sensible reflections of some vague unformed curiosity and desire I already harbour.)
(And it's 'Pamela' because when I went to Alaska last year, I got to the first hostel and was told that for some reason I had been listed as a reservation for TWO, one of whom was me, the other of whom was only listed as 'Pamela'. cadhla said that obviously Pamela was my muse, getting pushier than usual.)