It's 2am the day after Thanksgiving, and I'm awake and out of bed. I had a dream that I was trying to enter a sporting event using a bootleg plastic zipper seal bag. The police tapped me on the shoulder to ask what kind of bag it was, and I collapsed like a house of cards. As a rule of thumb, never tell people stories about your dreams. As this post ably demonstrates, they are never as fantastical as you think. In my experience your story always ends with the other person making a non committal grunting noise coupled with a slow nod of the head.
The dream woke me up, but age kept me up. I've reached the age where I have to be careful what I eat before I go to sleep.
Yesterday being Thanksgiving, I ate and drank too much. See what the missus wrote about the Day here. Of course eating a second helping of salty, therefore delicious, stuffing at 8pm was bound to de-hydrate me. As was the extra beer. Dreaming of our upcoming Mexican trip, I bought Tecate on Wednesday night (on my way home from the gym of course).
I didn't help things by lazily NOT refilling my supa-fly Swiss humidifier. It gets so dry here in winter, that I need to actively turn our bedroom into a sauna. Only this new humidifier emits a cold vapor. Kind of like a shitty 80's pop video.
It's way more functional than last year's humidifier - the Japanese donut. But man was that thing stylish.
I'm slowly introducing old person items into my life. Last week a folding foot stool arrived in the mail. It's a shoddy wooden construction with a fake woolen top. It takes center stage next to the sofa when I watch Jeopardy on TV ... next to my blanket ... and puzzle books.
I'm so old.