Oh, I so do not want to go to work tomorrow. I can’t believe how fast this damn weekend flew by. I slept in ’til 8 am this morning, which means I’ll have a hell of a time falling asleep tonight, and will really not want to get up tomorrow. After I showered and got dressed, I had to run to Bruno’s (grocery store) to pick up mushrooms for breakfast.
Fred makes an excellent Sunday big breakfast. He heats up frozen hashbrowns, and adds cut up tomato, kielbasa, onions, mushrooms, and eggs, and mixes it all together. It’s heavenly, and extremely filling. After we eat breakfast on Sunday mornings, we loll about on the bed and moan about how full we are.
I spent the rest of the day just puttering around the house. I cleaned the kitchen, supervised the spud in making chocolate chip cookies ("You break the dough off and then put it on the cookie sheet. Then you put it in the oven. Set the timer for 11 minutes, spud. Okay, go play." Obviously we don’t make the homemade kind, but damn they’re good). Fred and the spud watched Turbulence (with Ray Liotta and Lauren Holly) in the early afternoon, while I sat in front of the computer and read Moira’s archives (link removed; site no longer exists). Once they finished their movie (they watch movies at a volume that shakes the house), I went to take a nap. Fred disappeared downstairs to take a nap also, and the spud played in her room.
Oh, what a glorious nap I had! I dozed off with Spanky sleeping on my hip, and I fell asleep for 15 minutes, woke up, turned over, fell back asleep for another 15 minutes, and so on for about an hour and a half. It was one of the better naps I’ve had. And what was better, each time I fell asleep for 15 minutes, I had a short, vivid dream.
Which brings me to my next subject: I’ve been dreaming about journallers.
Two nights ago, I dreamt that I was house-sitting at Kymm’s house, watching and feeding her cats, and an hour before she was due home I realized I really needed to clean before she got home, so I was running around cleaning like a madwoman. Last night, I dreamed that Beth and Al were going to meet in person and Fred and I had to be there because something bad was going to happen and we had to stop it. What bad thing was going to happen, you ask? Fuck if I know. I just remember a feeling of doom as we raced down the highway.
Obviously my pissed-off subconscious is telling me to get my ass in gear and catch up on my journal reading.
I was downstairs last night in front of my computer, and the spud and Fred were in the extra room, where we store his Clavinova, and I heard the elephantine sound of cats racing from one end of the house to the other upstairs. I realized "Oh, shit, I left the backdoor open, and it’s gotten dark!" (our back yard is fenced in, so we let the cats roam around the backyard at random times), and I had been downstairs for at least an hour and a half. So there was no telling what manner of creatures they’d dragged into the middle of the living room to torture and kill.
When I got to the top of the stairs I found Tubby huddled there soaking wet, and Mr. Fancypants circling him in a hostile manner. Poor Tubby had fallen into the pool, and it freaked Mr. Fancypants out. Tubby ran under my dresser to hide, and Fred dragged him out and semi-dried him off. Guess what? Wet cats reek, in a big way. He’s none the worse for wear I guess, because when I opened the back door this afternoon, he was the second one out.
Spanky was the first one to fall in the pool — I guess it’s been about a month — and both times cats fell in the pool, it was dark outside. Obviously we need to bring them inside before it gets dark.
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