Bugger. There's so much going on in my life, it's all wonderful, I want to inflict the details on you, yet so far can't seem to produce anything worth reading. Embarrassing. Part of the problem: I am currently carrying on a huge amount of correspondence with a select few individuals in the U.K. and the States. The upside of which is that I'm writing, I have a life, I have folks I love being connected with, folks who bring big fun to my little existence. A mighty fine problem, as problems go. Combine that with intensive Spanish classes, though, it means I need to focus a bit more than I ordinarily might if I'm to produce anything here.
So in the interests of focusing for a moment, let me say this: I hope the people in my life feel how much I enjoy them, how much I get out of knowing them, whether the contact is frequent or occasional, in person or via e-mail, phone calls, snail mail. I am a wealthy individual because of what they bring to my existence, and I do not take them for granted.
Right. All done. Cancel the earnestness alert.
Last night I dreamed that Mark and Joel R. were after me.
The real Mark and Joel: brothers I knew in high school, Mark older than Joel by one year. Good guys, not people I tend to think of as dangerous. I don't remember exactly how the dream me pissed them off, but whatever I did, it was effective. They turned out to be my own personal Terminators, pursuing with relentless energy, finally burning down a house the dream version of me owned. That woke the 3-D version of me up. Unfortunately, I slipped back into a state of half-sleep where the dream continued and the R. boys followed me here to Madrid to finish the job. I managed to come to before the situation became irreversibly dire, and read for a little while to clear the whole thing out of my system.