Fatty bot

Last night was the first I really slept through in more than two weeks. Not counting the night with Ativan. That's cheating. I slept last night because I took Melatonin (far from cheating), and I don't have an Oceanography midterm in a week, and because I was very, very tired.

Today I drove to North Vancouver with Happy in the back seat. At Marc's parents' house, there was, for some reason, a Steller's Jay in the living room. Marc shooed it out with a dish towel and oven mitts. The oven mitts were his idea.

We ate at the Neighborhood Noodle House and saw Serenity with Beau and brother-of-Beau. If you enjoy cheesy space adventures (like I do) with people talking cowboy language for no particular reason (LIKE I DO) then I guess I recommend it. If you don't enjoy either of those things, however, I still respect you. I'm a very big person.

Last night I dreamed about Nazi-types with armies of monsters, and about having the ability to fly. It wasn't that different from Serenity, come to think of it. The weird thing was that I'd forgotten about dreaming, and how intense it is, and how it goes on for years and years in the time it takes you to roll over and fart in your sleep. So I think that made it more real. Despite, you know, the actual dream.

Happy is chewing on a "bull stick" behind me and the smell is outrageous. These are by far the worst smelling batch of bull sticks I've ever bought. They're like sticks of dynamite, full of urine concentrate. I can hardly breathe.