the continuing saga of a quack who's gone to the dogs

Dammit! Will the spam never end? Stop trying to sell me things! I have enough things as it is.

And for the record, Baby Diaper Cakes (which sounds like a character in a John Hughes film) is also definitely spam. Upon the advice of a friend I googled one of the phrases and there were 37 hits...

And then today some kind of home business computer site.

apology retracted. vehemence renewed.

I've lost the ability to sleep in. At least today I made it to 9:30 (yesterday I woke at 8:30). Factor in no alarm and staying up extra late watching chat line ads on TV and you may understand my resentfulness. From the inside I feel like a Jim Henson creation: fuzzy and bug-eyed. And I think I forgot to brush my teeth before hitting the Sleep Machine. In fact, I'm sure. Is this one of the small disappointments that getting older holds? I mean the lack of sleeping in, not the forgetting to brush your teeth -- although I guess that, too, could be a symptom of age. Running out of teeth to brush?

And I wake up in the middle of the night. Tonight's nightmare had me in some kind of warehouse: abandoned and dark. The first waking was fairly gentle -- another Argument Dream where the power of my intellect and the passion of the debate rouse me. But the discussion being set in a warehouse did nothing for my waking mind, as I tried to settle myself down again my conscious mind invented Bad Guys and Danger to return to. A stern talking to and visualizing my Safe Place (is there such a thing) took care of that problem.

AND I just realized that today is freeeekin' daylight savings day, so I STILL got up at 8:30.

A sizable list of things to do today. Finish the paper. Pay some bills. Laundry. Move furniture around. Put up blinds. Go for dinner. I should call my Mom, it's been ages...