Marcie does that thing where you put twice as many pillows as you need on your bed one to put your head on when you sleep and one to throw on the floor when you’re ready to go to bed. Like the Brady parents had, not that she’d know what that is ‘cause she’s not a TV kid. The reason I was thinking about that was that my head was on the pillow that you would sleep on and I was thinking about all the cat hair and stuff on her hardwood floors that gets on the other pillows when you throw them on the floor and that I’m allergic to cat stuff and that I maybe should be concerned about that but I wasn’t feeling sniffely so maybe not.

Now I’m using both pillows to prop my head up and type. I found a laptop by her bed and I un-suspended it and started typing in Word 97. The words that were coming to my head resting on her clean pillow were too tasty to let go of. I know after all these years that where you think of something nifty as you’re drifting off to sleep it’s gone fer sure when you fall asleep. Fight that urge to fall asleep and get them down. Type them in.

There’s some Boards of Canada playing and the remains of our dinner party are riding out the last of their ecstasy buzz and chatting in the living room. Nathan, who’s room the living room is, is curled up in front of the fire in the backyard like the cute little cowpoke he is. I’m resting on Marcie’s bed. I don’t think they know that I have a computer on my lap. Man, her screen must be eight hundred by six hundred. Everything looks big and clunky to me. I’m used to sixteen hundred by twelve hundred.

Well, that’s about it. Starting up her laptop and typing ended my sleepy reverie and now I’m just punching keys so I’ll say a “save, exit, close.”

Don’t get me wrong. I think Marcie and her bed are the greatest. It’s an “aw, shucks, aint that sweet” kind of thing.

Later.

davep