Woke up from a nap with the awful conclusion that more sleep's all there was for me, and went ahead with a dream I was at an intimate dinner party at my mom's with at least two newcomers, and was still dressed in my backwards sweats (what can I say, the seat's worn) and comforter. Sherry was there, and offered up an observation to the effect of "a classic girl is never a boring girl," which I so wanted to follow up Oscar Wilde-like, though, I wasn't quite sure a boring one never being classic was appropriately witty, much less from a guest whose pants had an expanding hole at the knee. A scream from the other room cut short my deliberation. The children of the house were calling from behind the bookcase fireplace, but they weren't outside. I began dismantling the structure, thinking I didn't even know their names because I hadn't either been here long enough or read the Narnia book. Oh well, I'd just use "him" and "her" for as long as I could. Once I got the fascade down, there was a 9x9 grid of metal locks which were loosely-screwed to a frame. Behind the first I undid, I could see that behind it was the rest of the original living room, with another fireplace in the distance. I was about to turn away when I noticed the antique well decorating the wall was moving! Mom informed me that it went below to the basement room where I had set up the ping pong table. At the bottom of the stairs I stopped to spot the carpet littered with tiny shiny nails from an overturned box I had cleared from my earlier work. The three dogs were running about, and I feared they'd be injured, so I angrily took a fence to block them off up at the top.

In the conscious world this morning, I had to restrain myself from making airline news and pummeling a pompous darkie who saw fit to occupy a suitcase's space in the overbooked overhead compartment with only his neatly-folded tweed sportcoat and his companions's leather jacket and sarcastically asked me if he should keep them in his lap when I returned them to him to make space for my 25-lb. laptop. "This is my only bag," I explained, "where do you want me to put it?" "Somewhere else," some fuckface comfortably seated in a window seat added. I suppose I set myself up for worse, but took my seat, anyway, content to continue my beef with the human race. Then, when it seems all hope's lost (for them), the fellow across the aisle offers me his egg croissant. Make up your mind, damnit.