| No hangin’ ’round…
Conductor: I can’t move this train if you hangin’ halfway out of it. Move all the way in when the doors close. [Doors start to close, fail.] Conductor: All the way in means no legs, arms, or asses be hangin’ out no doors! —6 train, 77th St stop via Overheard in New York, Feb 21, 2007 |
I had the most indescribable dream ever last night. I can’t even begin to capture the magnificence and the intensity of it, so I’m just going to make a few notes of it here to attempt to preserve some semblance of a snapshot of it for myself:
- The infinitely huge humpback whale that breached so quintessentially at 12:00 within 200 feet of the boat, and saying, “Oh my god. I hope Robert saw that.”
- Noting how the very pointy end that I was standing in of this huge boat came within millimeters of a side structure as it turned around in an inlet so small as to make the probability of a successful maneuver almost infinitesimal.
- Minutes later finding myself in the water, latched onto a drifting piece of boat, floating upstream as everyone else who’d managed a piece of floating boat, floated downstream.
- Walking side-by-side with Joe, both of us looking down at the floor, in some dimly lit, steel-walled hallway, knowing intuitively that we couldn’t look at each other or talk to each other, when he whispered, “Do you think we’re being captured?”
- Later walking down a similar hall by myself, and seeing this guy coming down the hall in the opposite direction from me rolling in a (self-propelled, I guess) bathtub. It was filled with water, and most of his body was underwater. He had a huge tank, like a scuba tank, but much bigger, and orange, hooked up to his face as some kind of breathing apparatus even though his head was not at all submerged. He looked like Mr. Whipple.
I managed through a 45-minute meeting today with Jon Idol, a programmer analyst in the NCSU Registrar’s office, to address dependencies for my ENG 675 project.
While I didn’t like most of what I heard, it’s all manageable in terms of me moving forward on my project and getting it done on time.
I slept soundly for about 2 hours, and it was one of those situations in which when I woke up I had to really think about whether it was AM or PM.
I checked in with Rick about leaving for our ski trip tomorrow, which I so wish was rescheduleable, if that’s a word. And the little red, squiggly underlines indicate that it is not.
I may end up having a very expensive four days on Snowshoe Mountain alternating between sitting in the lodge and soaking in the jacuzzi.
One thing that I do know: I can’t imagine a worse position to be in than having the runs (and I’m not talking about the slopes) in snow gear. It’s hard enough taking a piss in that cumbersome clothing, much less… And I usually wear a jumpsuit.
I know I’m sick when:
- All I ate today was two waffles for breakfast, and a half-can of Campbell’s Tomato Soup mid-afternoon. (And, yes, I’ve been drinking plenty of water. And I’ve reached my maximum number of Imodium pills to be taken in a 24-hour period. They’ve made no difference at all.)
- I blew off line-dancing tonight.
I did the last thing I felt like doing tonight—two loads of laundry—in preparation for my trip.
Actually, make that the second to the last thing I felt like doing—the last thing I felt like doing was getting my skis, boots, and poles out of my shed out back. And I didn’t.
More accurately, make that the third to the last thing I felt like doing—the last thing I really felt like doing was getting my ski clothes out and packing. And I didn’t.
We leave tomorrow afternoon at around 4:00—&deity willing.