I came home from work and slept for three hours. Yet again, my intention to write falls flat on its face, on the mattress. I had weird dreams. About sex and peanut butter pie and my grandmother. And I want to say "not all at the same time!" except...it kind of was. Disturbing. Also, at one point I was walking along the street with this convenience store manager, who was telling me how his mother died, and I cried, and said she'd obviously been an amazing person and now she was gone, and I regretted I'd never get a chance to meet her. And then he chided me for inappropriate emotions. In the dream, I thought: this is so typical. Typical of all the bobbles I feel like I've had lately with people, where I just can't seem to coordinate myself socially or emotionally. Where my hair rises like a cat's and I reflexively bat out and realize my claws aren't sheathed. Sigh.
Oh, and I also had a long nasty sex dream about Spike and Xander and a tribe of Visigoths. That was nice.
It's so clearly not worth trying to focus my brain now. Maybe I'll just take a bath and go back to bed. Tomorrow is Friday after all.