insomnia and kitchens
The trouble with having an irregular sleep schedule -- I have no classes Tuesdays and Thursdays, and tend therefore to sleep in -- is that you start keeping the most ridiculous schedule, sleeping thirteen hours at a go one time, and then feeling lucky to catch a two hour nap some other days. Just now, I'm coming off a sleep binge and am having no success at getting to sleep at anything approaching normal hours.
Yet I need to be out and about tomorrow. Quick nap in the morning, I guess.
In other news, Vicky, my little sister, is 19 as of Thursday (scary, that -- she's not supposed to get old!) and my cousin Benjamin is, I think, 6 as of Saturday. Unless he's 7. I never remember how old he is. I know my cousin Michael was born in '89, but Benjamin? Lord only knows. I forgot to send him a card so it's a moot point, I guess.
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I had a dream the other night that I talked to Emily and Nicole -- two girls whom I used to know (we were friends way back, and grew apart around the time we hit puberty and they were normal and I was sort of a geek) -- while lounging around in the kitchen of Emily's new house. The house was built just a block and a half from mine, down by the intersection of Woodland and Green Village Road, and I had parked my car on the side lawn. It was so vivid that when I woke up, I spent a couple minutes trying to figure out how I could have driven a car onto a lawn in that spot, before realizing the house doesn't even exist. There's simply no room.
Also, nobody in their right mind would paint a house such a vivid shade of yellow. I think.
I blame my parents for this. They're remodeling our kitchen and the rest of the rear first floor this May, for which Vicky and I cleverly plan to be absent. Possibly even as absent as Minnesota. But my mom mentioned the other day that the contractors they've hired had previously remodeled Emily's old house. I used to spend a lot of time there; it was the first place I ever slept over, in fact, barring the night Mom stashed me with a colleague while Vicky was born. Emily and I played marbles on her kitchen floor.
So. Emily and kitchens, check. Emily and Nicole, who were friends, check. Cars on the side lawn of nonexistant houses? Still unexplained. And where the flying kittens, the duckling, my Aunt Cara, and the guy who surfed upside-down on telephone lines came from, I really have no idea.
Yet I need to be out and about tomorrow. Quick nap in the morning, I guess.
In other news, Vicky, my little sister, is 19 as of Thursday (scary, that -- she's not supposed to get old!) and my cousin Benjamin is, I think, 6 as of Saturday. Unless he's 7. I never remember how old he is. I know my cousin Michael was born in '89, but Benjamin? Lord only knows. I forgot to send him a card so it's a moot point, I guess.
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I had a dream the other night that I talked to Emily and Nicole -- two girls whom I used to know (we were friends way back, and grew apart around the time we hit puberty and they were normal and I was sort of a geek) -- while lounging around in the kitchen of Emily's new house. The house was built just a block and a half from mine, down by the intersection of Woodland and Green Village Road, and I had parked my car on the side lawn. It was so vivid that when I woke up, I spent a couple minutes trying to figure out how I could have driven a car onto a lawn in that spot, before realizing the house doesn't even exist. There's simply no room.
Also, nobody in their right mind would paint a house such a vivid shade of yellow. I think.
I blame my parents for this. They're remodeling our kitchen and the rest of the rear first floor this May, for which Vicky and I cleverly plan to be absent. Possibly even as absent as Minnesota. But my mom mentioned the other day that the contractors they've hired had previously remodeled Emily's old house. I used to spend a lot of time there; it was the first place I ever slept over, in fact, barring the night Mom stashed me with a colleague while Vicky was born. Emily and I played marbles on her kitchen floor.
So. Emily and kitchens, check. Emily and Nicole, who were friends, check. Cars on the side lawn of nonexistant houses? Still unexplained. And where the flying kittens, the duckling, my Aunt Cara, and the guy who surfed upside-down on telephone lines came from, I really have no idea.