supplies and night things
I have a mind to procure some black and red sharpies. Shaws or Stop N' Shop should be able to help me with that. Meanwhile, I know I have fabric markers somewhere around the flat, but am wondering: Do I need fabric paint, too? Only time, trial, and error will tell. I'm hoping the markers will be sufficient.
~*~
Dreams are on my mind again, for a variety of reasons. Facebook, which I'm loathing less now that it takes very little effort to update remotely (huzzah for Twitter), reminded me in a couple of quizzes...
I used to actively day-dream in lectures. Now I reserve the habit for staff meetings and lulling myself to sleep at bed time, on the train, on the bus, on a plane... And I'm very good at it, still: turning my mind off and embracing a fantasy. I think it's one of the reasons I've never really had trouble sleeping. That's not to say that I never worry about anything, but self-distraction is a well-honed gift. Maybe this is something from my father; my mother is definitely the light-sleeping insomniac of the family. Dad and I sleep the sleep of the comfortably-resigned guilty--probably because we're heathens.
I don't really remember what I dreamt from Friday into Saturday--and I didn't recall waking in the middle of the night either, not without a reminder. On Saturday morning, I was sitting on the bed, dealing with my nails, which I'd decided to paint blue to match the dress I'd bought to wear to Becca and Pat's wedding. John and Rodney were talking of bed and sleep habits, and I mentioned how I tend to viciously kick people who end up in bed with me. Not intentionally. It's just something I do in my sleep.
One remark led to another and John said something to Rodney like: "Well, Maria screamed when I got up, and scared the shit out of me."
Pause. I wasn't even sure he was talking about me, and I thought maybe I'd heard wrong, engrossed as I was with nail polish. "I did WHAT?" Still no memory.
"I went to turn off the A/C, and you sat up and shrieked," he explained. Dawning recollection, but elusive and dream-like. "And Rodney woke up and asked, 'Are you okay?' And you quietly said, 'Yes,' and went back to sleep."
It was about that time that I had total recall--and busted out in tearful laughter. One, I can't believe I didn't remember at all until that moment. And two, just imagining their reactions at the time... Poor John. Poor Rodney. But in a "HAHAHA" kind of way. I'm an evil f(r)iend. Even now, I'm having a giggle about it (and likely scaring and unnerving my fellow commuters).
My best guess is that I was still half-asleep when it happened; though what I was dreaming of to illicit that sort of response when partially wakened, I still can't remember.
Let's blame it on eating tappas, drinking Chambord and tequila, and inhaling too many hair dye fumes too late in the evening--rather than my being a natural head-case.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.
~*~
Dreams are on my mind again, for a variety of reasons. Facebook, which I'm loathing less now that it takes very little effort to update remotely (huzzah for Twitter), reminded me in a couple of quizzes...
I used to actively day-dream in lectures. Now I reserve the habit for staff meetings and lulling myself to sleep at bed time, on the train, on the bus, on a plane... And I'm very good at it, still: turning my mind off and embracing a fantasy. I think it's one of the reasons I've never really had trouble sleeping. That's not to say that I never worry about anything, but self-distraction is a well-honed gift. Maybe this is something from my father; my mother is definitely the light-sleeping insomniac of the family. Dad and I sleep the sleep of the comfortably-resigned guilty--probably because we're heathens.
I don't really remember what I dreamt from Friday into Saturday--and I didn't recall waking in the middle of the night either, not without a reminder. On Saturday morning, I was sitting on the bed, dealing with my nails, which I'd decided to paint blue to match the dress I'd bought to wear to Becca and Pat's wedding. John and Rodney were talking of bed and sleep habits, and I mentioned how I tend to viciously kick people who end up in bed with me. Not intentionally. It's just something I do in my sleep.
One remark led to another and John said something to Rodney like: "Well, Maria screamed when I got up, and scared the shit out of me."
Pause. I wasn't even sure he was talking about me, and I thought maybe I'd heard wrong, engrossed as I was with nail polish. "I did WHAT?" Still no memory.
"I went to turn off the A/C, and you sat up and shrieked," he explained. Dawning recollection, but elusive and dream-like. "And Rodney woke up and asked, 'Are you okay?' And you quietly said, 'Yes,' and went back to sleep."
It was about that time that I had total recall--and busted out in tearful laughter. One, I can't believe I didn't remember at all until that moment. And two, just imagining their reactions at the time... Poor John. Poor Rodney. But in a "HAHAHA" kind of way. I'm an evil f(r)iend. Even now, I'm having a giggle about it (and likely scaring and unnerving my fellow commuters).
My best guess is that I was still half-asleep when it happened; though what I was dreaming of to illicit that sort of response when partially wakened, I still can't remember.
Let's blame it on eating tappas, drinking Chambord and tequila, and inhaling too many hair dye fumes too late in the evening--rather than my being a natural head-case.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.