Blargh. Dreams = No Sleep.

The CPAP needs a serious cleaning, so I didn't use it last night. So instead of one eight-hour sleep, I got eight forty-five minute sleeps, all punctuated by vivid and mostly-annoying dreams. The last one was the worst, in which lythandra and I had a nasty little run-down apartment in a nasty little run-down neighborhood. The plot of the dream, exciting as it was, involved me trying to get the toilet flowing again with a plumber's snake, the whole time thinking about how grim the place was. (The bathroom decor, for instance, was largely a dark and unfriendly olive green painted over what appeared to be duct tape patching obvious holes in the wall.) At the end, having fixed the immediate problem and washed my hands several times, I said to Laurie, "I know there's no point in sinking money into this place, because it's never going to be worth anything. But if we're going to live here a while, maybe we should at least re-do the bathroom?"

I woke up at this point, to discover that it was morning and that was the last (voluntary) sleep I was going to get for a while, and my immediate thought was, "Wait, wait, hold on a minute, that's not true. We have a nice house. Thank God." But even knowing that on an intellectual level, it took a good 30-60 seconds before I believed it.

Spin whatever pop-psychology you may want out of interpreting that, but the point is, I need some proper sleep. :P

-The Gneech

Life's Little I.T. Lessons, #677

Remember, kids: every time you move Heaven and Earth to make a tight deadline, they'll cut 8 hours off your budget for the next project.

-The Gneech

Their Faces Gaunt, Their Eyes Were Blurred, Their Shirts All Soaked With Sweat

Sixty years later, they still ain't caught 'em.

-The Gneech

Fictionlet

"I think I should warn you," Greg said, "Saturday's Halloween, so if you plan to crash whatever party I may be headed to that night, you'll be expected to, you know, dress up and everything."

"Oh, I've got it covered," said Brigid. "I have the perfect costume this year."

Greg blinked. "Really? That's terrific, finally getting into the spirit of it, eh? What's your costume?"

"I'm going as Balloon Boy. I'm going to hide in the garage until the whole thing blows over."

Greg winced and said, "Fun: you're doing it wrong."

-The Gneech

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