So for all the feelings of being in control, it's nights like last night that remind me that it's all pretty much a facade. Not sleeping again. Which shouldn't surprise me in the least. Not really. Just part of my everyday life, certainly. Assuredly. Completely.

But that's ok. It will come. Sleep, I mean. The dreams are there anyway. They happen whether I have full-on sleepage or not. They creep around the edges and tinge everything with an odd shade of sepia. Usually they are narrative. Not last night. But they were still there. Unreeling. It reminded me of those olde time film editing rooms. Piles of rejected film. Watched once and then dumped in a box. Treasures to filmophiles. But rejected nevertheless. Oh, to find the batch of Ambersons edits. And those for Queen Kelly. Strike that. Queen Kelly was garbage overall. And Gloria Swanson was a really strange looking lady. Lady is being generous, no? But what the hell- she is dead. And wouldn't make a particularly good zombie.

The boys at work are obsessed with zombies. I think it has something to do with video games. But don't know the specific reference, and don't care enough to ask. They discuss how to kill zombies. For hours. And hours. No, these aren't the guys I work immediately with- but another group. And it's fine, really. It gets them through the day. And they help get me through the day. I am an observer. And that works well for me. It's like watching some kind of strange geekoid tv show. And the time flies. Until I try to sleep at night. Then it staggers like a drunk. Bed spins and all.