Notes on sleep.
Despite waking up roughly every ninety minutes for the entire night -- which always results in my head being filled with fragments of dreams, like some weird new sort of confetti -- I am disturbingly not tired this morning. I won't say I'm the queen of pep and perk or anything silly like that, but I'm definitely among the living, and may even qualify as being among the chipper. I think it may be time to reassess pushing my bedtime back an hour, as it seems like I function slightly better on seven hours of sleep.
(And it's not like I've ever going to complain about gaining an hour in the evenings. Everybody likes to gain an hour. Losing an hour, not so much, but gaining? Made of win.)
Lilly continues to sleep on her blanket next to my pillow, meaning that at any point during the night, there's about a ninety percent chance a Siamese is about to start licking my ears. The other ten percent of the time, she's wandered off to do something of vital feline importance, and Nyssa has heroically taken her place, keeping it warm for her. I can generally tell when this exchange takes place, because Nyssa quacks. Loudly. I think my cat's meow may be broken.
As I said to Chris the other night, there's something really odd about the fact that I consider a Resident Evil: Apocalypse T-shirt and thigh-high camo socks lingerie. But as he pointed out, anyone I'd want to be wearing lingerie for probably feels the same way, so hey, it all works out in the end. (Brooke has a pair of the same socks. Brooke and I will be seducing an entire platoon of werewolf zombie hunters Thursday after work. It's on the schedule.)
And, as a final note, there's something oddly reassuring about waking up cuddling a plush velociraptor and rolling over to see your cat cuddling the same velociraptor in a slightly smaller size. Weird, but reassuring.
(And it's not like I've ever going to complain about gaining an hour in the evenings. Everybody likes to gain an hour. Losing an hour, not so much, but gaining? Made of win.)
Lilly continues to sleep on her blanket next to my pillow, meaning that at any point during the night, there's about a ninety percent chance a Siamese is about to start licking my ears. The other ten percent of the time, she's wandered off to do something of vital feline importance, and Nyssa has heroically taken her place, keeping it warm for her. I can generally tell when this exchange takes place, because Nyssa quacks. Loudly. I think my cat's meow may be broken.
As I said to Chris the other night, there's something really odd about the fact that I consider a Resident Evil: Apocalypse T-shirt and thigh-high camo socks lingerie. But as he pointed out, anyone I'd want to be wearing lingerie for probably feels the same way, so hey, it all works out in the end. (Brooke has a pair of the same socks. Brooke and I will be seducing an entire platoon of werewolf zombie hunters Thursday after work. It's on the schedule.)
And, as a final note, there's something oddly reassuring about waking up cuddling a plush velociraptor and rolling over to see your cat cuddling the same velociraptor in a slightly smaller size. Weird, but reassuring.