(no subject)

Sometime in the night, I tossed so much in my sleep that I stole Alan's bedspread and kicked mine off. He says sometimes I talk in my sleep. I wonder if I woke him this time. I was dreaming about being in New York, and breaking my arm while alone in this apartment. Then the werewolves came, and I think all of that dream was much more about my character Anna. We stoof on Charles bridge in the freezing cold, and someone was singing Bob Dylan, and I saw Otto in the crowd.

Side effect of a late night card playing, too much coffee and reading Bernard Cornwell before bed I'm sure. So many things to be doing now, but where to start?