At about five-thirty this morning I woke up to a very loud rumble. I looked outside and all I saw was the brightest moon there ever was. And of course, I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I watched the news. All anyone could talk about was how cold it is. It was one degree. I think it's nice when the weather calls for the use of the word degree, singular. It almost never happens. The weatherman advised that people not go out unless they had to. He said that it's frostbite weather. Who gets frostbite when there's a deli on every corner? People in places that are really cold all of the time must think we're such sissies.

After a long while, I was ready to get out of bed and give up on sleep, and then, suddenly, sleep made a dramatic return. I had a nice dream. In my dream there were robots flying through the sky on the other side of the glass. They were a bit like Voltron, but, I don't know, younger maybe? Like Voltron's chilren would be, if Voltron were capable of having children. Which means, I suppose, that the component robots would be kittens... That doesn't really make any sense, but, in the dream, the robots were incidental. What mattered was who would sit next to whom. And I asked her not to tear that page out of my notebook, but she did it anyway, and I was furious. And then there was someone holding my hand, fingers laced through mine, but I don't know whose... and I just wanted to be his favorite.

I slept until eleven o'clock. I can't remember the last time I slept so late. And now I'm going to go out even though I don't absolutely have to. I am terribly, terribly brave.