I had horrible dreams last night.
When I finally woke up for the last time, I was back in my house, lying on my couch. I put my glasses on my face and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. I yelled at Bingley a few times to quit licking his leg and he finally just ran away.
I set my alarm pretty late on Sundays so I can feel sort of smug when I wake up before it goes off. I'm not really fooling anybody.

I'm having a thoughtful Sunday. After a week of not thinking at all, it feels good to have a small amount of emotion, and a small amount of transforming thought. I had an hour long quiet time while it snowed and I reheated my coffee three times.
We watched Rent last night which is (in my opinion, and quite a few of my friends disagree with me) a horrible movie. To me, the songs just weren't great, and I felt like everyone in the movie got what they had coming to them, so I didn't really feel any sympathy for them. No, I don't think that's self righteous of me, I'm just being honest. If you're sleeping around with people who shoot heroine up their arms, or if you are a man having sex with another man, I don't really feel bad for you when you get AIDS. You chose your lifestyle.
If any of them had repented, it really could have been a different story to me. I might have cried, even.
Okay. Saying these things out loud will probably come back to bite me.
Having more than one day off gives me too much time to think, I guess.