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I wrote last night at work, yes. But you know when I said I was going to write yesterday afternoon? I didn’t. Know why? Because I had another cup of coffee, and leaned over, and fell asleep on the couch. Only woke two hours later when the phone rang. I didn’t make it to the phone on time, but I made it to the bed, which is near the phone, so I fell asleep again. I slept for three and a half hours yesterday afternoon.

Then today, after working last night, I slept nine hours. I only woke up because I was dreaming of Maggi’s cats, and one was climbing the balcony, and I woke myself by laughing too hard.

This is unlike me. I keep checking my forehead. Am I running a fever? Nope. Do I feel fine? Yep, feel great.

I do not nap. I’m horrible at it. I’m also pretty durn bad at sleeping, period. So this is odd. Lala thinks that her mind-control is starting to work, which might be true, since the girl’s the biggest sleeper I’ve ever known. You could pretty much set up a ten-piece band in her room and she’d sleep through the music. Unless there was a saxophone. That might piss her off enough to wake up.

It’s sunny! The first real sun in a week. I’m going running, and then I’m going to write to make up for yesterday’s lost words. Unless I conk out again. (I do sometimes write in my dreams, and I write incredible words, sentences that sing with beauty and intelligence and compassion. Then I do the Is-This-A-Dream test by re-reading what I wrote, and it’s NEVER the same, and I think, crap. Another writing dream. They beat waitressing dreams, though, hands down. I HATE waitressing dreams. Never enough milk, and you haven’t even greeted six tables of expectant faces….. See why I have problems sleeping?)

You deserve a coupla photos, don’tcha? I have no new ones, so here’re two from Hawaii.

A sunset (that thing floating out in the water is a surfer):

And these people, who were watching the same sunset:

I love that.

So it’s Tuesday, right. Tuesdays are for writing. That’s my new thing. I like to get a big ole four-hour chunk done, which propels me into writing for the rest of the week. And if I start by noon, that’s fine. But if I start by eleven, then I get a nap before work, so I’m really going to try to prop my eyes open and move my fingers.

Although I might write from bed. Right now I’m on the couch. But the bed is warm. Where IS the heater guy? I called to try to get service through the home warranty and requested a different heater guy, since the last one never showed or called back after he missed the appointment. A different guy called yesterday and said, "So, can we come by at 7am?" I called back and left a message, "No, seven is bad. Noon is good." He called again this morning at six forty-five and asked if he could come by. "No, it’s still not a good time. I’m, um, leaving." "Right now?" He could tell by the way that I was barely forming syllables that I probably wasn’t going anywhere, but come on, that’s just silly. "Right now. I’ll be back at noon." He said, "We’ll see what we can do," and hung up, so I don’t think I really even have an appointment.

All this stuff confuses me.

Kira astounded me again last night. They have this thing about picking the very few things I don’t like in life (eggplant, squash) and making it taste great. Last night was okra — usually slimy, snotty goo, in my book. But they made it into bhindi masala, and it was sublime. Truly. Tangy and spicy and sweet and NO slime at all. I eat better at the vegans’ house than I normally ever do. (Also, go out right now and buy some Vegan Chocolate Chip cookies from Trader Joe’s. Unreal.)

Hey, my mailman’s back from vacation! God bless a good mailperson. He knows the days I’m up and the days I sleep (and leaves packages without knocking at the back door if I have the blinds drawn).

And he just brought me a present, from Dear Reader Sparkle, FOLK SOCKS! What a gorgeous, gorgeous book, one that I’m going to read like a novel, from cover to cover, preferably under covers. Perfect. Thanks, darlin’.

Today is my day off. I have errands to run, but nothing immediately pressing. I’m not writing today, either, as I need a day to myself with no Work or work. The space heater is running, and the cats are just now coming down off the refrigerator (dogs just left), and while Adah looks comfortable, Digit has that look on his face like I’ve hidden a couple of extra dogs under the bed to scare him with later. He’s not buying my innocent routine.

Weekend: Great. I went out drinking on Saturday night with m’girl, to a birthday party at Tango Tango, a karaoke bar in the City, and I drank a lot. Only three martinis, but apparently I am O.L.D., because they knocked me on my ass (that and the pain meds I was on for girl stuff. I am smart that way). But I sang a lot, and Lala said she was impressed. That was my main goal, anyway, so I wasn’t TOO drunk. (And she was driving, so she was sober when she said it.) But oh, the hangover yesterday. It wasn’t the sick-feeling kind, it was the vertigo kind. Way worse.

I just wrote a whole paragraph on what I ate for dinner last night (it was great, the new New Zealander in Alameda — two words: meat pies), but realized that when I start talking about food, I am truly boring. (That’s a real person, you know. Truly Boring made a report of a lost driver’s license last year. F’real.)

Also, I got a call from Kira while I was at the New Zealander, reminding me that we had planned to have dinner at THEIR house that night. I’m an asshole. Really. This is my public, embarrassed apology. Waaah. I have NO memory.  They’re coming over tonight, and I plan to…. Well, I don’t know, since I don’t cook. But I’ll think of something nice for an apology.

I’m going to knit now. Hooray!

https://rachaelherron.com/hey_my_mailmans/

This morning, when I got off work, I went running for the first time after being up all night.  There was supposed to be a huge storm coming in, winds to 50mph, and I wanted to get at least one more run in this week. So without really thinking about it (because if you think about it, then you don’t do it, you just get in bed and go to sleep), I put on my ‘fit and went out.

And it started raining.

And it was wonderful.

Really. I run inside Mills College, and it’s such a gorgeous campus that my heart is happy every time I enter the stone gates. Set in the heart of Oakland (and it’s closer to the rougher side than the gentrified), there are four trees per student, and it’s old, old, old. This is the president’s house, seen in the rainy dawn this morning:

Okay, it’s not a good shot. But it shows how many eucalyptus and redwoods are behind it, and I had to run through a little wooded area just to get the shot. Oh, the smells this morning! All rain on the trees, and the eucalyptus buds on the ground (run carefully over those, though). Em’s mom, an alumna, always talks lovingly about Mills and the smell of the trees. I rarely notice it, but this morning, I understood why she doesn’t forget it.

And y’know what else? Running in the rain is cool. Literally. I wasn’t as hot as I usually get, and the air was actually a little warmer than it’s been lately, so my lungs weren’t struggling against the cold. It was exhilarating.

I did pass a kid outside the gates waiting for the bus, huddled under a huge down hooded jacket, and his horrified face so clearly said, "You’re crazy," that I nodded and said, "I know!"

And here’s me, home from the rain. I took it to shock Lala, who has a running aversion stronger even than mine to bikes, but she was less traumatized than I thought she would be. Oh, well.

Yes, my eyes cross a little when I’m tired. Always have. I only notice it in photos, but sometimes I realize that other people must notice it all the time.

Now I’m babbling. Soon to be bubbling. Bath time, followed by last work shift this week. Happy weekend, everyone. MWAH!

My girl’s new hair:

Dude. Hot.

And I like the bleach part of the process, too.

Heh. I actually like to see the levels of crazy I went through yesterday. Today. Whatever. All I know is I just got up, and the building sinus headache (big storm coming) is not as bad as the mood swings I was having earlier.

Maybe if I push my fingers right INTO my eyeballs, it’ll make it feel better. Nope, that didn’t work. Of course, it’s always good to pet the cat you’re most allergic to (Adah, although I’m allergic to both of them) and then rub your eyes in a brisk manner. I don’t call it puffy, I call it sexy.

Barrels of fun (I typoed rum! Much better!) at Chez Yarnagogo. I’m actually not really that bad. Just enjoying a little sulk. Not enough time off — I hate getting up and then getting ready for work an hour and a half later (I go to bed as soon as I get home) — that’s barely time enough to read email and respond, let alone do any of the writing that’s really calling me. Let ALONE watch that Amazing Race episode sitting in my TiVo, singing my name.

Not. Enough. Time. In. The. Day.

And officially, I say, as I always do, I DO NOT KNOW HOW MOTHERS DO IT. Mimi Smartypants (see the introspective) says it well today. Y’all are saints, and just the fact that I can perch a cup of hot coffee on my couch while I type and worry only about the cats paws and not someone’s little hands getting burned right off is something I think about.

And THIS made me really happy today.