So why do I feel like I'm in limbo? Like I'm not really here? What gives?

I blame Stephen King.

It's kind of like I'm drifting from day to day, doing the things I should be doing, but none of it affects me. Like I'm in a bubble. I don't even have the interest in writing this. There's plenty going on, and lots to say... and yet...

O.k., so last night I dreamed that my mother and I were sitting in the dining room of her house... and Stephen King came in and asked me out for this upcoming Halloween.

Anyone?

Anyone?