5:29 MON OCT 26

I'm really only still here, at work, because I'm trying to kill enough time for my parents to be home. I've been a bad (and sometimes zoo-busy) daughter and not gotten a call in for a few weeks, which also puts a halt on trying to formulate vacation plans.

I could feel it in my knee all day Sunday that I'd been up and down as Ta-Daa, trying to show the younger, somewhat more anxious children that the big bug could be a small(er) bug, too.

If I can refrain from anything resembling modesty for the moment, also, I'd like to mention that I rocked out to Thriller this weekend. Something about seeing the choreography before (and being able to move away from the clingy children) must have made a difference. Imagine that!

My Halloween costume won't be settled until I actually make a trip to the costume shop (as in, the free one at the theater) and see what I can pick up for the cheap.

That should be long enough.

I am not actually here.

Seriously, every person who steps into my office and tries to make conversation with me has been informed that I am--clearly--a figment of their imagination since Real Hannah has today off from working three shows, one partial rehearsal, and a morning in a bug suit.

It is really, really hard to keep up with Thriller choreography while you're inside a giant fuzzy suit that simultaneously draws small children toward you and blocks your ability to see them next to your ankles. Kid in the giraffe costume, perfectly doing the choreography while on stilts, you are my new hero.

Timmy Hawks Rock Star Skating Shoes 5000...SHOES!

After listening to three differnt versions of "Little Shop of Horrors" over the past two days, I've come to the official opinion that my favorite is the movie soundtrack. Supporting Ellen Greene while filling my love of Rick Moranis? Hurrah!

And, Melissa? MORAL! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day!

I am now going to take a seven minute nap in my office with all the pillows from Secret Garden.

I could eat Panda Express orange chicken until I fell over (though the falling over would likely be caused by my own malnutrition).

I like how I didn't really have anything to say, and thus made my subject line what could've been a semi-paragraph.

Also, I'm apparently only good at chopsticks when I'm not trying to type at the same time. Who knew?

bouncing sheep bolero

I'm somewhat too sleepy to leave work at the moment, as I'm not sure I'd make it to the proper bus (only slightly joking). I don't know where I went downhill during the day, but I guess it has something to do with falling asleep pre-10:30 last night (and thus waking up before seven today).

Last night I sat besides the pool for a good hour and pretended I was on the dock at a lake. Perhaps if the pool light had decided whether it wanted to be on or off (instead of flickering back and forth every ten minutes or so), I could've pretended more affectively.

I'm currently eating the end of the Jaffa Cakes Caleb bought while in London (and then gifted to me after--I guess--not caring for the chocolate/orange/crumbling crust flavor). I, on the other hand, cannot get enough of the jam-like orange center, and should use this time instead to find a way to procure more of the delightful cakes? cookies? lovelies? without a $700 plane ticket involved.

I refuse to believe that it's actually October...

...but I will happily take the new month paycheck anyway.

I've been blogging the old-fashioned way lately (I believe the grown-ups call it "writing in a journal"), just to unload a bunch of thoughts jostling around in my brain. (No, *you're* welcome, Skull!) Most of them aren't headed here, but here's a few odds and ends that slipped out between the heftier stuff:

Remember when I used to write monthly update emails to everyone in my email contact list, regardless of how much they might care?

"Cheesy fries" are--together--two of the most glorious words in the English language. (Seperately, only "cheesy" inspires greatness. "Fries" could go either way.)

I'm not sure that any good will come of either burst of nostalgia, but I just broke out the (fresly rediscovered) honey soap [a souvenier of my first trip abroad] and need to buy that Big Sky song from itunes before it disappears into my gypsy moth past again.

Something about a multiple-day eye twitch (and not having anything in particular causing it) makes you want to toss out all the stress in your life and sit reading on the back patio. (Also, nothing adds to your stress level like not knowing the source of your stress-induced eye twitch.)