What You Missed

I'm talking about two entirely separate things.

I need more sleep. Always. Went to bed around 11, woke up around 4:45, then I couldn't really go back to sleep, but I had a very vivid dream about being in the zombie apocalypse. We had found safe haven at a friend's penthouse in NYC. Though I knew we were friends in the dream, in real life I had no idea who he was. The penthouse was stocked with food. We waited for the government to come in, rescue us, but it soon became clear that no one was coming. The sun rose and set and rose and set. We tried not to make any noise. There was a pool there, in the middle of the room. Reflecting windows. Someone turned on all the lights, and I kept telling them, I kept saying, no, no, no, they'll see us, what are you doing? And I woke up with that sort of panic, the lights, the lights. Checking my phone, it was 4:48, not even five, I was relieved I had an hour, forty-five minutes at the most (let's be honest). But then I couldn't fall back to sleep. I went to the gym severely wishing I was still in bed.

Honestly, I feel the most rested and prepared when I've had eight hours of sleep, but with my current schedule that's next to impossible.

I'm okay with that. For now.

Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of me.

You, you, you.

Matt thinks you shouldn't buy a house unless it costs no more than than 3x your income. At this rate, the only place I can buy a house is looking to be the desert. Las Vegas maybe. Perhaps a cardboard box under the bridge.

I never really wanted a house. I mean, if you have a house, that means you have to fix it. It's yours, forever and ever, or until death do us part.

Earlier this week:

The house smells like stale beer, wheat. The floor is sticky by the thermastat. Matt's curled up in bed still, so I tickle his ear so he wakes up. I write him a post-it and leave it on his computer. What it says though, what it says.

The people next door asked me what I do.

I would like to protest the question of "What do you do?"

Any takers?

During the day I'm addicted to checking my email. It cannot be stopped. I've signed up for so many bullshit emails, a genuine one's hard to come by.

But when it does come, when it comes I feel light and fuzzy inside. A poem I wrote is being published. More details soon. Maybe. A few months or more.

Work is more and more creative. Happier about that.

Looking forward to the holidays. We have plans to watch LOVE, ACTUALLY at our orphan xmas. A xmas hike. Tapas. Spiced cider. Maybe midnight mass the night before. Not for the boys though. Probably not.