I feel a bit the way I do when I wake up happy before my eyes open, and then remember my dream wasn't real. It's a strange sort of sinking feeling. I woke up at home for the first time in days. I got to spend time in the woods, and spackle and sand and paint walls, and watch old horror movies, and drink whiskey with women in their sixties, but even all of that lost some of its charm halfway through the weekend. I spent some time stuffing my mopiness into my pockets. I like to be a good guest. The drive back took a thousand years, but it was soft and rainy, and I think it's pretty when there are just a few grey clouds scattered across a solid white sky. Still, a sinking feeling, faraway, but sinking. This feeling that has nothing to do with what I actually dreamt last night. I dreamt that Bees was wearing my gloves. All it did was make me upset with Bees and remind me of the hole in the finger that needs sewing.

I saw Unix, finally. He always has so much to say. At one point the computer talk got out of control, and I thought, "Holy cow, you sound like a robot!" but I didn't say it, because I thought it might make him self-conscious. He then moved into telling me about his rock and roll fever. He wants to go to Detroit, but his girlfriend isn't interested, so he asked me if I wanted to go. I know it's all talk, but it's fun talk. What did he say? "It's not as bad as you think!" He gets so enthusiastic that he makes that sentence sound better than it reads. And a lot of other things happened, warm and dark and funny things. Last night was good, and when I got home afterwards, sleep was no problem.

This afternoon, to prepare for Thanksgiving dinner, I got back into bed, fully dressed under the covers, and listened to the radio while watching the lights come on in the rain. Through wet windows and distance some lights look like little fires. I wondered whether, when I got out of bed and turned on the lamp, someone might see it and think the same thing. Then there was dinner, which wasn't so bad. I think I'm getting better at creepy situations. Or situations are less creepy than I anticipate. And now it's back into bed, for the third time in the last twenty-four hours. One day I'll be a champion sleeper.