Dream weaver, I believe we can make it through the night...

Now I’m a little angry with this word editor, or more so, the lack of education I have of its nuances.  Monday and Tuesday posts never showed up except on my local machine and I didn’t find out until yesterday afternoon on the way home.  So I spent time (about 20 minutes trying to figure out what the dealio is and my only guess is that it has to do with copy and pasting into dialogue boxes, and/or excessive formatting to transfer/translate.  I think I’ve got it worked out, but I’m not even sure yet.  Now it looks like I did both days posts on today, and I’m not even sure it’s going to work yet.  If you get this, send me a comment, please.  I’m a little frustrated.  Just even to test it out, I changed Monday’s title to ‘I’m Mad’, and now it won’t let me edit to change it back. I keep getting browser send request error messages.  Umph!

Ok, so, with that off my chest, and only the tiniest chip on my shoulder…

Updated list of favs:  Cake, Jane’s Addiction, Rolling Stones, Sublime, Beck, and Black Eyed Peas.

Ok, so I had this strange dream that I was four weeks pregnant with a little boy and we were already huge and he was kicking and moving around…And then the weird part.  Frank and I were having all these issues with a fire alarm drill in some place that looked like a mall, and everyone doing the wrong thing with using elevators and going the wrong direction.  Then for some reason Brad Pitt is working at the McDonald’s we’re trying to get to that’s under construction and in some weird place amidst all the curving overpasses in the industrial district on the East side of the Willamette where I-84, I-5, and 405 all connect.  Mr. Pitt can’t grill a burger well at all; the damn thing is pretty much still raw hamburger.  And then I wake up.  Analyze that.

Word(s) of the day:  FERSHIMMELED

Lexie log:  Poor little angel woke up from a terrible nightmare this morning crying.  I was in the kitchen getting ready and heard her scared and crying.  Daddy was comforting her, and then when she realized I was still home, she came sobbing into the kitchen where I scooped her up and asked her what was wrong.  In a very sleepy, sad voice she kept repeating that Grammy was bad. At some point she also said she was sick, and we got the overall impression that the nightmare had something to do with Grammy getting hurt or sick.  I called Grammy’s cell phone on the way to work and left her a message to call Lexie at lunch.  Last night, right before bed, she really wanted to talk to Grammy so I let her call, even though I was pretty sure she’d be asleep.  She was awake, and they had a cute conversation.  Then we crawled into bed and slept.

Today I’m grateful for Frank and Lexie, my co-workers, my job, can openers, staple removers, fairies, art, water, and weekends.