Ten. Ten solid hours of sleep, and I feel more than human this morning. After a run in the pouring rain (seriously, had to wring out my jacket when I got home) and a trip to the grocer’s the superhero feeling isn’t going away, and I wonder if maybe I’ve managed to pay off most of the sleep debt from my previous years.
Of course, I probably lost a massive number of neurons during that time, which explains why I can’t do math. No, seriously. No math for me, not since second grade when the teacher would shake the kids when they didn’t have the right answer. (I hated that.) I only pulled a B in geometry because I beat the teacher at pool. I was still drunk from the night before, but that’s a story for another day. (I can only shoot pool during a certain golden hour of drunkenness.)
Maybe losing neurons explains other things, though.
It’s a rainy day–what? Yes, I know I live in the Pacific Northwest. Most of the time that shit falling from the sky isn’t rain. It’s liquid fucking sunshine, people, and you’d better get used to it, because here the pot grows high, the moss grows between your toes, you slurp tasty-ass coffee, and you like it. *blinks* Ahem. Sorry. Thinking about geometry makes me remember middle school. I think I was a trashmouthed little thing then, too.
So when I say it’s a rainy day that means the bottom of the street is almost flooded because the curtains of monsoon falling on us make even natives and hardened Weterans of the Soggamous blink a couple times and remark, “Woooow, that’s a bit damp.” So much water that my writing partner, looking past me out at the deck, blurted out “Look at the pine tree!”
The tree, an 80-85 year old hulk (according to the master arborist I had out to see if any of the lovely big piles of wood were going to crash on our house during dinner) has massive branches that usually keep the deck dry. Alas, now they were so saturated that water was flowing down the trunk in rivulets. AWESOME, RIGHT? Except for when you have to go driving in it, and for God’s sake, this is Washington, you’d think people would have learned to drive in some water.
Anyway, we’re having a breath between monsoons here, so I should probably check the mail, and then curl up on the couch with the notebook I’m writing Rattlesnake Wind in and get some serious wordcount. After, of course, I put my combat books somewhere safe to dry.
*eyes the preceding paragraphs* Huh. Apparently getting enough sleep makes me random and foulmouthed. I suppose it only expresses more fully what I am at bottom, like so many other things. Stay dry out there, chickadees.
Exeunt, stage whichever, pursued by a bulldog.