Welcome to the mushy stuff between my ears
It’s 1:28 am on Thursday night. Christmas Eve looms ahead at the end of the week, followed briskly with Christmas Day. I’ve spent the last 2 weeks in bed with persnickity kidneys, and tomorrow I venture over the hill and across the bridge to the foot of the sleeping Indian Princess where I shall emplore my oh mighty urologist to make me all better.
Perhaps due to the 7 bazillion drugs they threw at me while I was staying in the hospital (By the way, Stanford – great doctors, but it being a LEARNING facility, don’t expect anything other than SLOW.) and additionally the resident urologist taking a strong dislike to me (EREH?) has contributed to renaming what I usually refer to as “mild insomnia” to “STRESS of the NONE SHALL SLEEP type”.
So Courtland gave me a blog because he wanted to sleep. Smart man. Don’t want to listen to the rants and raves of the Creative Writing Major, yet don’t want her to burst into tears crying, “You don’t even WANT to understand me!!!”? Give her a blog…in the olden days that was a journal, but journals being all taboo to flip through if it is not your own, she probably wasn’t going to feel truly fulfilled unless she thought there was some unsinister way for you to witness what goes on in her devious insane precious frail sick little mind. That unsinister way has come to be via my boyfriend (who is now asleep–look how fast that happens for him!) *sigh* and I now subject you, the reader (who could also be me later when I switch roles as I often do) to things that go bump in the night. Usually no one can hear them but me – these particular bumps – unless it is actually me running into pretty much anything in my apartment on my way somewhere not important at all.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me. I’ll let you know what kind of war I got into with the lovers and dreamers under the rainbow. They’re a rough lot.
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