The State Of Being Caught In Dreams

There is apparently some spam-producing e-mail program that uses random words to generate the names on the e-mail accounts it uses. These e-mails are always received with the same subject line, and they have names like, "Fluctuation V. Barbershop" and, my favorite, "Bloodthirsty H. Ninnies."

Bloodthirsty H. Ninnies!!!

In other news:

Lately, I want to wear the same outfit every day, like a uniform. I want the smell of oranges on my fingertips for company. I want to sit in a room with the lights off and the rain against the windows watching movies in technicolor. These days, nobody wants to hear stories about little boys who climb mountains with lions, about little girls searching for their fathers, lost at sea. I want to be done with the people who want to be done with me. I want the bowed legs of crickets to sing me to sleep, swaddled in the warm cocoon of a bedroom. I want to be caught in hibernation like a bear, heavy with fur, with knowing the seasons and the changes they bring. I want to be loved or to be left alone.

Back To Bed

Last night, a series of dreams:

One where we were driving around a town near where I grew up which is locally famous for its "historic quaintness." I pointed out a one-hundred-fifty-year-old house that I sang Christmas carols at when I was a little girl. You were driving and it was snowing and I asked you to slow down and you did. Later I wondered if perhaps that is just how someone who has many years of driving experience behind him drives through the snow.

Another where you were in my actual, real life bedroom, killing spiders that were the size of a copy of David Copperfield. We listened to Cat Stevens afterwards and played chess on the livingroom floor.

And also: one in which I was looking for you at night in some sort of Manderley-esque estate, maybe even equipped with a lit candle and floor-length nightgown. What are you doing sleeping in this room? I wanted to know when I had finally found you. We snuck back to my bedroom and, well, what happened next is far too obvious to tell you.

Woke up much later than usual, feeling determined to sleep the whole rest of the day, although I didn't, at all.

I walked to the Farmer's Market for Kettlecorn and had no intentions of enjoying it in its entirety. I just haven't been feeling it. Next weekend, I reassured myself, Next weekend. Next...