|Tired. Also more tired.
||[Jun. 1st, 2010|08:57 am]
I feel like saying, "My in-laws have gone home, and I am beyond tired," risks sounding like, "Oh, gloom and despair, the wretched in-laws have gone home and left me a wreck." When in fact they were not wretched at all, they were very fine in-laws, and I'm glad they could come so that markgritter and his mom could share their birthdays (and Matt, Dave, and Grandpa Lyzenga could share them with us). But I am still a frazzle and a nubbin through no fault of the in-laws'. Yesterday I had a nap. A nap! Those of you who know what a bad napper I am will know what a thing this is. And nevertheless a nap is what I had. I was that level of stare-at-my-fingers tired where you ask yourself, "Which is more important? A) Send a video to Matt of a barbershop quartet singing the Ewok victory song. B) Balance the checkbook." And then A wins. (Given how tired I was, it's probably just as well I did not attempt financial management even on the small-scale. Still. He hadn't even asked for the Ewoks.)
Last night I had my first dream that I forgot my cane and had to try to wobble around without it. New category of worry-dream, gee thanks, brain. I also dreamed--well, all the ways I can think of to cut-tag this for those who are phobic would probably trigger the phobia, and I know of at least three of you who have this specific one pretty strongly. Suffice it to say that I dreamed very, very vividly of a thing I am not phobic of but some of you are. It was Very Symbolickal of the vertigo and the vertigo treatment. Subtle my dreaming brain is not.
Last week timprov reminded me that every time I finish the initial draft of a book he has to remind me that finishing the initial draft of a book exhausts me (never mind the other things going on in the last few weeks). I said, "Oh, do you?" Which is I suppose why he has to every time: if I remembered him doing it, he wouldn't have to do it again every single time.
I'll have a book post later today. For some reason I've had a run of library books that are beautifully written and completely devoid of kindness between the characters. I've been getting a hundred pages in and saying, "I have no desire to spend time with these awful, self-centered, unkind people any more." Of course not every book has to be full of kind people doing and saying kind things. Naturally not. But when nobody seems to like each other, even a little--and what's more there's no sign that they ever did--it's hard for me to want to stick around and watch them have sex and fight anyway, no matter how lyrical the prose is. I don't even have anything clever and pithy to say about it. Just--done now.