I could talk about writing. Everyone else is talking about writing. But I don't feel like talking about writing.
So I'm going to talk about something else. In fact, I'm going to talk about something that happened to me this morning.
The last few weeks, things have been rather hectic for me, the result being that there's been more than a bit of sleep deprivation in my life. So this morning, since I had an interview to do at noon (with Ashley, a very nice young lady from the Daily Texan) and I wanted to be able to form coherent sentences, after I dropped my kids off, I did NOT go and write. Which is highly unusual.
Instead, I went home, took a bath, read a book, and set the alarm clock for a reasonable time in case I fell asleep.
Well, the alarm went off, I got up, blew my hair dry, got dressed, couldn't find my keys, discovered the rabbit had fleas, and then accidentally left the front door open.
And then the alarm went off, and I woke up.
Now, maybe it's just me, but personally, I think life is busy enough that I deserve a little downtime when I close my eyes. I mean, you'd think my subconscious could throw a dragon or two in there, or maybe a trip to the south of France. Or at least a hunky guy in a kilt.
But no, I get lost keys and fleas.
If only there was someone I could complain to...
8 comments:
Okay, Karen, I hear you, girlfriend. Here's my beef.
The human body replaces itself every seven years.
Why does my stupid body keep coming up with....ME?
Why can't I look like Cindy Crawford? Or Uma Thurman?
Why do the cells in my body INSIST that I look like this?
What's with THAT?
Joanna
Karen,
I'm sure Freud would say that your dream is far more complex than you imagine, and you are actually a FASCINATING woman based on the symbolism of the fleas (an irritation in your life that will be difficult to eradicate) and the open door (limitless possibilities lie before you).
Hey, at least you're not sleepwalking and saying "Out, damned spot!"
This morning I dreamed my neighbor called to tell me someone had stolen my water window. We had a long conversation about where to find a replacement, and why on earth someone would steal a water window in the first place, and what is the world coming to?
I woke up frustrated and a little angry, because I knew I would be dealing with this damned water window thing today rather than more important things. And what if the insurance doesn't cover it? I expected to be on the phone half the day.
Then I asked myself. "What the hell is a water window?"
Oh thank gawd, Bill. I was just about to dig out a Hammer Schlemmer catalog and see if I could afford that item. It does sound very Feng Shui.
(Bill said:)
Then I asked myself. "What the hell is a water window?"
It does sound sorta cool. Whatever it is.
Joanna,
I've met you, my dear, and I think the cells in your body got it right the first time. :)
K
Julia,
I like the way you think.
Fascinating woman. I could get used to that....
And at least it was fleas, not head lice. :)
Bill,
That is a riot. (And Candy, it does sound like something I would order.)
Isn't it funny how it takes a few minutes for it to dawn on you that the all-consuming problem isn't real? (Of course, in my case, I had to do all the things I'd just dreamed about, which was a bummer. I did remember to close the door, though, and the bunny does not, to my knowledge, have fleas.)
Karen (who's trying to imagine what a water window would look like)
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