a lazy day

Today I was supposed to have a busy day, but so far I’ve skipped two commitments and have only gone to dance. I may or may not skip another class later this afternoon. I’m not sure yet, because although I like the class I am very sleepy and I’d have to hike over to Evans, which as you may know is not exactly the most invigorating building anyway.

I didn’t mean for today to be a lazy day. In fact, even now that it’s obvious that it’s turning out that way, I still feel hesitant to call it that, because I’m not skipping because I’m lazy. I’m skipping because I’m tired and gosh darn it, I’m not leading a lazy life, at least not by middle-class American standards (impoverished third-world standards are a very, very bad comparison, and I’m aware how spoiled/lucky I am), and I feel I could really use an afternoon off. Even on my normal afternoons off (MWF) I go to office hours and do that kind of thing. Even now, I’m not being lazy: normally when I skip classes, I justify it by saying I’m going to spend the time being productive instead, and then I go play computer games. But I’ve already finished the reading for one class in the time I’ve not been in class, so I really am making up the time (sort of).

My day was supposed to start with yoga at seven am, which is normally a reasonably nice way to wake up. But I didn’t sleep too well. I had a long, complicated scary dream, which started out with me and a group of other nice people being stuck on a boat with a murderer who was killing us one by one. Eventually we figured out who he was, but in the beautiful place that was the area-surrounding-police-station (combination of dance club, Berkeley campus, and what I imagine the Sutro Baths looked like in their heyday), he escaped into the crowd, and as I mingled with other dangerous criminals with only a serrated kitchen knife to protect me, he tried to seek me out and exact his revenge. Not a fun dream. Oddly enough, though the murderer started out looking like David Tomlinson (the dad in Mary Poppins), by the time he escaped our grasp he had become a normal-looking middle-aged-to-young [Asian] Indian man. Which means that while he was under our control, he was Tomlinson, but as soon as he became a greater threat to my personal safety, he was Indian. And although there was a vulnerable young boy stuck in the boat with me, whose mother was killed by this nefarious Indian-Tomlinson character, the killing that disturbed me the most was that of this boy’s pet duck. I thought, what kind of despicable person murders a pet duck?! Fortunately the duck was inhumanly (induckly?) strong, and survived, but by the time I realized it was alive it had become our cat, Tibby. You know how that happens in dreams. But I tell you all this not to bore you with details of my dream life, which I realize is one of the more dull things a person can tell you about herself, but because this dream has uncanny connections with another scary dream I had in April. Indians as threatening, and strength and sacrifice on the part of ducks. I think this says very disturbing things about my unconscious. I can only plead not guilty. I don’t make these things up intentionally.

Anyway so I woke up from this dream and thought, whew, glad that’s over. Time to roll over and get some more sleep before yoga. At that precise moment my alarm went off and I realized there was no more sleep to be had. I don’t like going into my day directly from an unpleasant dream; I prefer to go back to sleep and sleep the dream off, so I decided to skip yoga and get that dream out of my system. Plus I was just tired.

So I slept for another two hours, then got up and ate and dressed etc and went to dance. After dance I met Dorothy for lunch. She is visiting Berkeley for fun this week, and I have not seen her since, oh, 1997. So that was fun. I showed her my apartment, and at that point realized I am super sleepy and would probably just fall asleep if I had to sit through lectures. So I skipped my geography class and did the reading for it instead.

Now here I am trying to decide whether to go to my second afternoon class in Evans. I should go… but… it would be SO nice to not have to go… bleh.

[This post was imported on 4/10/14 from my old blog at satsumabug.livejournal.com.]