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- I just woke up from a dream in which I was pulling these vast, giant, rubbery bermuda grass roots that were way down in caverns under the earth, and I was in danger of falling into vast crevasses. While I was doing this, I was listening to two commentators talking about what terrible filmmakers Virginia Woolf, Steven Spielberg, and some guy named Rosencrantz are. Or were, because Rosencrantz killed himself at age 29 because he was such a bad filmmaker. I was pulling weeds because my laptop had died while I was driving down a street looking for an outlet. While I was wwoofing I pulled a lot of bermuda grass. Saturday night I couldn't go to sleep until 3 a.m., perhaps because of the double americano I had at 8 that night (although I think it was because of something else). Then I woke up at 6 after hearing something that sounded like a dog collar shaking and velcro ripping. Then I woke up again at 9 when my friends got up. I went into the other room, laid down on the floor, and didn't get up until noon. Last night we went to bed around midnight and I went to sleep handily. Then at 2 the fire alarm went off and we had to evacuate the building. It was snowing. A woman in a wheelchair needed help down the stairs. We stood outside 15 minutes or so and came back in. We stayed up talking for a bit, and then at 3 I went back to bed. I couldn't go back to sleep for the life of me, but then I did, and then came the bermuda grass/bad filmmaker nightmare. Got up, had Reese's Puffs, having coffee. Glad I don't have to work today.
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