Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled
setsuled

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I feel . . . funky. And not in a “baby, I wanna get up and dance the whole night through” sort of way.

I feel tired and like I’m almost about to panic, like there’s this jittery freaking-out flitting just below the surface . . .

I know this prolly has something to do with last nights restlessness--a restlessness bourn of a couple venti lattes, some gorgeous and huge new pictures of Tori Amos up now on www.hereinmyhead.com, and repeatedly crashing computer.

I can’t even tell you how many times it crashed--the room would be completely dark, I’d be trying to go to the Dreaming, when suddenly the room would be filled with blue light as the machine went for another round of “dumping physical memory”, “shutting down to prevent damage to your computer,” yadda yadda yadda . . . and mind you I didn’t even make a real honest attempt at sleeping until 5:30am.

From then on, if it wasn’t the computer crashing, it was the phone ringing, or a door slamming, or my poor aunt outside calling out the name of another of her cats that’s gone missing.

All in all, I’d say I got merely one hour of uninterrupted sleep, and about four hours of half-waking/half-going-back-to-sleep. Which, IMO, is worse that not sleeping at all.

Before my predatory dance with unconsciousness, last night was a pretty nifty evening.

I more or less rescued a book by Lydia Lunch for Trisa--over the course of her adventures, the tome had been left in the centre of the street.

In spite of bearing tire-marks and a few new folds, the thing seems basically in tact . . . and not that soggy . . .

So as I was playing Morrowind at Magious’s to-night, I became aware of this anxiousness inside me . . . Actually, I was a bit aware of it at Barnes & Noble earlier to-day as I found myself compelled to stride as briskly as possible everywhere I went within the store.

I was looking for another copy of the Lydia Lunch book, but of course I didn’t find one. Nor did I find it at Borders. So blah!

I did finally find a couple of Caitlin Kiernan books--an author I’ve been looking for for quite some time--and I shall prolly go back for one of the to-morrow . . .

Blblbablabbblblbabbblbblbluh. I feel so fucking antsy.
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