My Night-Fancies.

I confess an occasional night-mare; but I do not, as in early youth, keep a stud of them. Fiendish faces, with the extinguished taper, will come and look at me; but I know them for mockeries, even while I cannot elude their presence, and I fight and grapple with them. For the credit of my imagination, I am almost ashamed to say how tame and prosaic my dreams are grown. They are never romantic, seldom even rural. They are of architecture and of buildings--cities abroad, which I have never seen, and hardly have hope to see.

Lately bushels of dreams, and so many of them seem the same. There's never any plot or point, they're background music, scenery being watched out a train window. Dreams about things that have already happened, things that will to continue to happen, nothing wonderful or calamitous, but predictable and small, inconsequential things I didn't even realize you could dream about, like eating breakfast or watching TV or making up the bed. Boring enough to make you fall asleep, if you weren't already. Is there maybe some late night snack that can be consumed to induce better dreams? I am open to suggestions.

Home, (Bitterly Smelling) Sweet Home

I've returned home to Berkeley and the first thing I thought to do was to Google "a sight for sore eyes" hoping to uncover the history of the phrase, and found a piece about how "sore" once meant something very different than you'd expect. In the afternoon I thought something about being very lucky and having good friends, but in the evening this thought has become hazier, I drove this thought around feeling like there is only so much I can control, and then embarrassedly realized how this sentiment relates to some earlier conversation about external or internal loci of control, and how for all the effort I had put forth to staying awake in AP psychology, I don't remember ever being told or finding out how to change from being a person who thinks the former to one who thinks the latter. I'm not really sure if it's possible to reprogram yourself in such a fundamental way, but I'm somehow convinced that it's a step in the right direction to try to convince myself that it is.

Its safe to say that I had spent too long of my summer break in San Diego. I'd seen everybody that I wanted to (or people that I was obligated to see) within the first week, and spent the lot of my days struggling to keep the heat off of me.

I brought home:
a DVD player with surround sound - mainly to upset the neighbors.
cooking spices
a small vacuum
a small but seductive lamp
two boxes filled with Angelina Jolie magazines. (yeah, I know.)
two Fresh Baked candles (Blueberry Muffin, and Oatmeal Raisin Cookie)
black shoes with pink elephants
Linus Larabee the hermit crab. And I hope he'll stay alive, dog knows I don't have very much luck with animals.


I don't think I spent enough time with my mother. But I'll just have to make it up to her next time.