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Dis-graceful

weaselbed

Okay. I confess. The general lateness and lameness of posts lately? I’ve been…

…umm…

…asleep. And that’s not a metaphor for hot, hot mustelid sex or anything. Uncle B and I have passed out comatose a minimum of ten hours a day since I got here, snoring and farting like livestock.

Seriously, it’s whack. It’s Britain-induced narcolepsy. Turbojetlag. Even the cat can barely lift her head off the pillow to cadge Friskies. I knew I had some catching up to do after a year of low drama and high anxiety, but this is stupid. We haven’t spent eight hours awake in a row since November 26.

Tonight, I struggled awake to the sound of, “oh my god…it’s ten o’clock!”

And I go, “I dreamed I was having lunch with Mrs Rockefeller and Bette Davis.” And I really was.

And he goes, “I dreamed I was watching the Prime Minister put on a conjuring act.” And he really was.

Well. We’re a well-matched pair, I guess.

Surprisingly, that’s not as happy a thought as you might imagine.

sock it to me

December 16, 2008 — 8:30 pm
Comments: 25