It appears to be Monday.
Huh. How ’bout that.
I had a dream last night in which I was an actual, honest-to-god, Digger-style wombat, which would have been just enormously cool (I recall examining my hands, which had the big finger-claws, at length) except that it was a freakin’ moving dream, brought on by James and I glumly discussing our need for a bigger place (I need more bookcases, and I am running out of space for them.) So it was actually a nightmare. I can fight zombies all night long, I’ll weather serial killers and venomous snakes and I’ve even come to terms with the teeth-falling-out dream. But hand me a cardboard box and tell me to pack, and I’ll wake in a cold sweat, gibbering like a rabid otter.