i did the nap thing again. so sad.
my husband came home as i was wrapping up my last entry. i felt embarassment wash over me; at least if i had been masturbating i could have asked him to join me. but journaling? i think i require that to remain private. marriage i think of as a venn diagram, mostly overlapping, but two distinct circles.
i didn't have any caffeine today/yesterday, but i had strange, seemingly over-wrought dreams anyways. in fact, i feel quesy from them.
i started reading philip k dick's collected stories. halfway through and i have yet to find one mundane. some are a mere three pages: still strange. how can one so prolific be so distinct? i read, and so much is just formulaic; the author barely detectable as a swath of words here, a clever phrase there, their impression fading on me as i put down their pages. dick challenges normal, building stories on something so little as a literal interpretation on a figure of speech. i am in awe.