Today I was hoping to end out my first week in the new digs with a quick day at work, a little lunch in a new cafe, and finishing up Chapter Eleven tonight before turning in and figuring out what I’m going to do for the weekend. That’s what I thought about last night.
However . . . my body and my mind thought otherwise.
The headache is still here, though not as major as it was the other day. Last night I managed to edit about twenty-five hundred words in Couples Dance, and did a very good job of it, if I may say. I watched a hilarious version of Pulp Fiction on AMC while I edited, because things were cut out and words were completely edited, and if you were using this movie as a guide to figure out what was going on, you’d probably get lost. Any movie where The Gimp isn’t present, but you get to hear someone tell a young boy about how they kept a watch stuck up their ass for two years is a strange time indeed.
With all that behind me I headed off to bed . . .
And woke up about two AM with the guitar solo from Firth of Fifth running through my mind in a never-ending loop. I felt warm, I felt a little disoriented, I felt uncomfortable. I got up and washed off my face, then rolled back into bed and spent hours tossing and turning. I didn’t seem tired, but I didn’t want to get out of bed, because I knew that once up, I’d be up the rest of the night.
I know I finally fell back to sleep because I had a dream that I drove up to my house and found people I didn’t know working on it, and who had put some of my things out on the curb for garbage pickup. This did not please me, I can assure you, and there were words spoken, though being it was a dream I don’t know what was said. I think at some part I ended up driving away and going for a walk in the woods because why not?
There were other moments, too, where I felt like I may have been awake, may have been asleep, and I didn’t know if I was dreaming, if I was hallucinating, or just had strange thoughts running about my head. For one I was out shopping at Catherine’s, getting a couple of outfits for work, and Donna Noble–not Catherine Tate, the actress, but the actual character–was waiting on me, giving me the strange eye the whole time. There was another of these moments where I swear the reason I was having trouble sleeping was because I’d just gotten breasts implants, and having big boobs in bed was bothersome . . .
Lastly, though, I was with someone I know, a special friend shall we say, and I spent a considerable amount of time kissing her from her cheeks to her toes and back. This was topped off with something special that, while it took some time, the end result was great for us both. The last part of this moment that I remember was holding her and calling her, “My dark witch,” to which she replied, giggling, “I’m not a witch, I’m your wife.” Then she spooned into me and drifted off to sleep.
That’s what will likely happen to me tonight.
The drifting off to sleep thing, you know?