Jack behind his joker and stone-cold Grace behind her fan

Jun 07, 2009 22:35

Yesterday was both sociable and convivial, much the sort of day that I imagine normal people enjoy all the time: Judy and I, along with
mythichistorian, went to a people-gathering at
pennski's and
bookzombie's to help celebrate
pennski's birthday earlier in the week and also to see whether the universe would implode if
mythichistorian and
pennski were in the same place together at the same time since they are, apparently, the same person or, at any rate, have the same name. It didn't but, utilising logic to rationalise the argument, I realised that this was because one of them would have to be the anti-PH for this to work, and we are all very much pro PH, in whatever shape, size and form.

Also, I made brownies, although I forgot to eat any, so I hope that they were okay and had no ill effects on anyone who did.

And there was delightful Indian food, and much company and conversation. And some lovely cats who, unlike some cats that I know, did not run away and hide at the sight of people but came up and said hello and allowed themselves to be petted. Plus I must applaud
bookzombie's taste in party music, which included BNL and the soundtrack from Company, although not both at the same time. Obviously.

I am rather in love with the garden there, which is long and quite narrow and quite wild; it's the sort of garden that could serve as a setting for the better class of turn-of-the-century children's fantasy and may, indeed, have fairies at the bottom of it although, if so, one hopes they are the friendly variety rather than the more traditional and scary sort that will GET you if you mess with them.

The only downside is that all this, along with the quite-long drive to get there, meant that I have been pretty much incapable of any sort of thought or movement all day today, so nothing got done. Certainly no writing. Or housework. I managed to stagger the five minutes' walk down to the Co-op, because if I hadn't done I would have starved to death at work next week - or, at least, tomorrow; later on, much too late to be helpful, logic kicked in and I realised that we can go proper-shopping tomorrow evening - but that and staggering back again was as much as I could do and, after that, I just collapsed for the rest of the day.

Chronic fatigue sucks, btw. Just so you know, those of you who don't also have it. (Most of those who do have it suffer far more badly than I do, so are probably looking at me and thinking, what a whiner. With some justification, it has to be said.)

Incidentally, I don't know if the Indian in Whitchurch utilises some strange, secret ingredient - extra turmeric, maybe, or something - but I had the most vivid and bizarre dreams last night. It's okay, I'm not going to bore you with them. Just trust me: freakish.

Rather appropriately,
jonathancarroll posted this today:

What is more realistic than a bed? Where do we let our guards down more than when we slide beneath the sheets at night and say okay, I’m done. Then we switch off the light, expecting both us and this hour to fade to black.

But do they? What about that little engine called the unconscious that never stops working and never stops surprising us with its remix tape of our day? How many times do we wake up in the morning and the first thing out of our mouth is where did THAT dream come from?

Indeed.

tired, busy, people

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