One dream melded into another, between bouts of TiVo watching. The hacking of the giant lizard into 5 pieces (I thought it was a big weed --oops!) happened, oddly enough, right after watching a documentary about Champ, "America's Loch Ness" of Lake Champlain.

Carrying on a torrid affair with Matthew McConaughey (McSpicy!) happened after watching an episode of "Grey's Anatomy."

But I'm still not sure why I dreamt about climbing up the side of a tower overlooking the freeway during morning rush hour traffic, with a bunch of other scantily dressed women, for a radio contest. We had to climb to the top AND shake our groove thing at the same time. I must've done a pretty good job, because I was given a check for $8,061 afterwards. After changing back into my work clothes, a friend marveled at my bravado and said I should do it again next week. "Nooooo way. That scared the shit outta me. I almost fell 3 times in those heels! On the other hand, if I was in a bind for money, maybe..."

Perhaps that dream was related to my subconsious notion that if my life really hits the skids, I can always be a prostitute.

As long as I can get my oral skills back up to par.

Which should be easier once all my teeth fall out.

See, I got it ALL figured out.

(You beginning to understand why I enjoy sleeping so much?)

But seriously, I've been all moody lately. Two weeks ago I was jaunty, positive and tackling stuff. I typed up my To Do list in a Word table. Hung it on the fridge. Marked shit off and EVERYTHING.

Then last week rolled around.

I need to return that CD. And fill out that rebate form. And buy food. And balance my checkbook. Throw some clothes in the wash. Put air in the tires. Fill up the tank. Unload the dishwasher. Take out the trash.

My energy would spike around 2 pm at work -- yes, tonight I shall accomplish many things! But by 5 pm, all I could think about was getting home. Blessed sleepies.

I'd speed past the gas station (I got enough till tomorrow), bypass the grocery store (Ritz and cheddar in the fridge, I THINK), open the door, get pounced upon by slobbering doggies (awww, I love you too, and oohh, I have to take you out, don't I? *christ!*) crawl up the stairs, change out of my clothes, get practically pushed down the stairs by the dogs (Nobody's going anywhere if momma breaks her legs! Cool it!), sleepwalk them in a circle (tree, bush, tree, tree, grass -- we done here? C'mon!), drag their asses back to the apartment, crawl up the stairs, dump kibbles in their bowl, pour a big glass of ice water for myself, place it on the nightstand, throw on my comfy jammies and crawl into bed. Set the alarm, and select a good TiVo program to half listen/half happily nod off to.

Ten minutes later on the cusp of sleep, I'd think:

Oh shit, I forgot to eat.

Maybe I have that Seasonal Affective Disorder thingy.

Or maybe, I'm just lazy. Would love to discuss furthermore, but I need to go to bed.

*Yawn*

Gonna stop at the kitchen first though.

Because I went to the grocery store tonight. (See, I'm doing better already).

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