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Bone tired. This was the week from hell, packed into two days. Ah, the emotional highs and lows. But -- celebratory dinner! Sushi and caramel! Dr. Strangelove! We've learned to stop worrying and love the bomb. Or at least be really creeped out by surreal Stanley Kubrick Cold War nuclear Armaggeddon scenarios. I need to do my dishes, because they're going to sprout mold soon. And I should pack. I'm going to anthro lecture tomorrow because I am a control freak and don't really trust anyone else to take good notes. I'll need to get them for this Friday anyway.

Screw it; packing and dishes tomorrow. It's almost 1:30, and my roommate's already asleep. How long can it take to pack for five days at home? We'll have to arrive dressed, though. Driving in a skirt. Blah.

Here's hoping for a good night's sleep.

(no subject)

Apparently my body thought that 7:30 was a good time to wake up. When I forced it back to sleep, it must have figured that 8:30 was the next best thing. Wah. I was only asking for 9. It's not like I was shooting for noon or anything. For the last four or five days I've been waking up repeatedly in the early hours, with weird dreams. They say that's a sign of sleep deprivation, when you can remember them vividly. But I didn't need that to tell me.

(no subject)

Chag Sameach everyone. There are seders waiting for me. :)