Writing while sleepy

2003-01-26 / 2:07 a.m.

It's late, and I'm nowhere near tired. Just another cruel trick my body's internal clock likes to play on me... I've been just puttering around for the last 30 minutes or so...just wandering around. My idleness lead me down to the basement of our building, which could be right out of a horror movie. You can tell that it was a functional area at one time. There's the remnants of some study desks, and a ping pong table that's fallen into disarray. The creepiest thing I noticed tonight was that the door to the crawl space was proped open...not just propped open, but done so crudely with a rusty shovel. There was something oddly ominous about it.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, some terribly clever soul put a fake plastic--but very realistic looking--spider outside the kitchen door. I jumped about 3 feet into the air when I almost stepped on it.

In the realm of information that no one cares about. the cats at home have apparently made great strides in tolerating each other. My mother (who I'm just now back on speaking terms with) says that early last week, the two of them slept on the same bed. This is in sharp contrast to the situation when I left. Perhaps the two were inspired by one of the many impassioned MLK day toleration speeches

I think I'm more tired than I originally anticipated. At any rate, I need to get some sleep--I have a lot of US-Latin American Relations reading to do tomorrow.