Age and I are hitting the Lent slopes

That's right, Lent in the fall! Oslo in the summertime. Breakfast for dinner. I'm at the top of the mountain and the ride down isn't looking so bad. It's easier when you have a sponsor, like in AA. It'll be interesting to see how long I can last, but I know I'll eventually break down and give in. Curiosity is natural, isn't it? If I'm stalking people I don't even care about, am I really going to stop stalking the ones I (foolishly) do care about? Or maybe I can. I don't know. The real question here is... can I give up Gossip Girl and The Hills? Oh man. I may be in too deep right there, past the point of recovery. Who can resist Chuck Bass's permanent sinister gaze or Serena's slight speech impediment, or Blaire's round peasant-like face? See, that's exactly what I'm talking about. (Not the TV show.) But how can you erase things from your memory, and is remembering the same as missing something? Who knows. I will, I'm sure, but not for awhile.

I have to stop dreaming in metaphors. No I don't.

In a half-dream, sleep was a foreign language document that wouldn't fit in the box I needed it to. I would push it down, and the box would move up. We went back and forth like this a few more times before my dream self got fed up with it all and told myself, "Sleep is not a foreign language!" and I really went to sleep. I don't need a sign like a dream to tell me my job is miserable.