myslim ze nevim

How long has it been raining? I do not remember now.

I dreamed again. Of course. I suppose most people dream often, that it is a natural consequence of brain function. But I wonder if anyone else dreams the same things I do.

It's always so tactile, so realistic and raw, full of the strange details of life. The man with the white ostrich feather on his tophat, the professor sitting on the South Mall gleefully telling a joke, the brief bursts of rain that shimmered and fell star-like to the ground. We played cards, and I scuffed my shoes. I dreamed of walking with him, of kissing him, of conversations so painfully real. And yet, I still wake up alone.

silver day

The rain's coming down hard again, and the ground is saturated. We have a small moat now, running down by the fence. Everything's going silver, and now I no longer have to wonder what the rain would look like from this place.

Reading Cyteen because my mind needs a break from Slavic Literature & Important Things. It's literate brain candy, so it's not so bad as Melynda and her romance novel habit. I might watch Valmont for the third time, and that is getting a bit out of hand.

Making lists, trying to decide what books to pack and what clothes to leave behind, and I don't want to leave any of my shoes, damn it.