In my dreams, things happen that piggyback off of real life things. And in real life, things happen that piggyback off of dream things. This is confusing, but a much more pleasant and less frightening dissemblance of reality than the one of the previous few weeks.

Yesterday, while I was awake, I went to see Liz. We made french toast with Greek yogurt, cereal, honey, berries. We drank tea. I talked more than I should have about myself, but then we sat on our computers and gave each other music to make each other happy, and watched the beginning of a cute movie with Amy Brenneman and a cute man who wore biker shorts and bought a Jane Austen reader. I should probably re-read Jane Austen, because I have this idea in my head that I don't like her, and that seems wrong. Right now I am reading a book about love and butchery, and a Raymond Carver compendium.

A thing about bubble baths: if you don't run the water hot enough to scald you, the water gets too cold too fast, and you are left dissatisfied, chilly, and not even pruney.

Time to go back to sleep.