And it turned into a ballroom blitz

Lately, I've been fatigued. I get about seven hours of untroubled sleep a night, yet I've been struggling to stay awake at work. I think it's because our office is so quiet and the heat is always up fairly high. For all intents and purposes, I may as well be nestled cozily before a fire with a warm mug of hot chocolate heating my hands. And when it's slow, like it's been the last couple of days, well, you're looking at a veritable perfect storm of sleep-inducing conditions. So when Marcy came by and asked if I'd be willing to do some work up in Nashua, I snapped to attention and had my coat on before I could finish saying yes, please. The trip provided the pep I needed.

Now, though, I'm tired again. I'm having some coffee, but not too much, because I'm meeting up with Foley later at True Grounds, where I expect we'll talk about a plethora of subjects, like the story arc of Lost, his latest crush, music, and books. Who knows, maybe we won't talk at all and just stare at each other in existential despair. (Update: we're rain-checking this bitch and will meet up some other time. He got out of work too late for anything meaningful to happen).

My dreams lately have been incongruent with the stresses of my waking life. For example, I'd been ruminating over troubled friendships and then I go and have a dream in which everyone I'd been thinking about contacted me in one form or another with joy and affection and everything was fine. And this week, when I've been stressed over matters I'll not mention here, I go and have a dream last night in which I'm at a sunny beach with my family, riding the waves in some phantom summer of youth. I wish I remember more of what happened. I do recall looking over at my sister, who was wearing a magnificent grin as she was about to jump in the water and thinking, "Wow, I forget sometimes that we grew up together, that I have a sister." The dream brought back the flavor of the time when the four of us were entirely more present in each others lives. I'm surprised I didn't awake feeling sad and wistful about how far away I am from those days.

So, good dreams: I'll take 'em. I should be dreaming about subterranean cannibals and laudanum delusions, considering how much I've been reading from Drood, but I'm not complaining. I'll take the beach every time.

On the horizon:

Watch Precious and The Human Condition (part two), the two Netflix films currently in my possession.

Decide on which direction I want to pursue as concerns recording gear and then take action. I used to record a lot more than I do now. I'd make up whole albums on the spot. Fun and fertile days, they were. Yeah, it's time to make some records and, knowing me, I'll overlook most of the welter of songs I've already written and fine tuned in favor of a create as I go approach.

Put some lyrics to the two new songs I've working on.

Go to Kendall Square and see the Secret of Kells.
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I received Impossible Visits today. Read the preface already, and if it's any indication of the rest of the book, I'm in for a well written, thoughtful experience.

It's getting late and I want to practice before I incur the wrath of the intemperate beast that dwells below me. Wish me luck, dear readers.