This morning I feel like I'm on another planet.
With all the stuff I did last week, and jury duty, and being totally off my usual schedule, I'm not sleeping very well. I go to bed, but then I wake up a few hours later. Usually I have a kitty on my pillow, which is fine, and comforting, but then I find I have a couple more kitties on my legs, and then I find I'm totally immobilized. I'm a human burrito, held down by 20 pounds of fur. It's not nice.
Last night I woke up at 5:30 a.m. When I got home from the theater, we stayed up until about 12:30, watching TV (Cat Cora got beat again on Iron Chef), and talking about the show. Patrick noticed that I seem tired. His comment was about how lack of sleep can fuck up your emotions. I'm not sure what it is about how my emotions have been the last couple of days that made him make this comment, and I'm not sure if I should be worried about it.
If this were a regular work day instead of Sunday, it would have been fine: I could have gotten up and showered and dressed and gone to work. Instead, I don't have to do anything today until it's time to pick up Bo for the theater at 2:30. I stayed in bed for awhile, breathing on Franny (the kitty on the pillow), but after doing that for awhile (I think we both got bored), I got up, put on my robe, grabbed a blanket and my book, and stretched out on the couch in the living room to read.
I'm reading T.C. Boyle's "The Women." It's about Frank Lloyd Wright's wives and lovers. He had a few of each! Mostly overlapping, too. It's an okay book... it's narrated by a Japanese guy who was an apprentice to Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesin (and I have no idea if this historically accurate... TCB is taking a lot of liberties, I suspect). It's interesting, but the story appears to be running backward, and I haven't figured out yet what the purpose of that is, except to confuse me. And the story is pretty salacious. Frank's relationships were complicated, to say the least.
So I read for awhile. Patrick snored in the other room. The cats all came out to see what I was up to, but none of them were tempted by my blanket. Dora curled up on top of the TV and I read. At some point I put the book down and went to sleep, but I'm not sure when that was. I had a dream about working in a bookstore, which is one I always have at some point or another. At 9 o'clock, Patrick got up and came into the living room to see if I was okay. I was. I am. I'm just not sleeping very well. Now he's gone to the swap meet for a little exercise (he likes to walk fast), I'm sitting here listening to Melvins, and contemplating all that stupid laundry I never seem to finish.
And, while I've been pretty faithful to Nina's admonition that I should wash my hair every other day only, I think today I'm going to rebel and wash it in spite of it having just been washed yesterday. I think a nice shampoo and some heavy duty conditioning action is just the thing I need. In fact, a shower will probably solve everything.
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