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eight foot santa Despite the odd dreams that I have been having lately, my sleep has been very sound the past few days. Once again it was hard to wake up last night. It took nearly an hour before I staggered off the couch and wandered over to the computer. The surprising part is that I had fallen asleep with the radio on and the curtains open. Yes, the radio was barely audible and it was tuned to the classical station, but I would have thought that the talking on the commercials would have woken me up. After reading my email and some journals, I turned on the television just in time to catch the final fifteen minutes of Cupid. So I got a small dose of Paula Marshall for the week. Hot dogs have to be the worst thing as far as food for me. They taste okay as long as I don't start to think of what they are made of or what they might do to me when I eat them. I try to suppress images of ground up pig lips and assholes. As a result of this graphic imagery, I can only eat them about once every three months or when I am truly desperate for something quick and easy to eat. The reason I bring this up is that I had about four of them for lunch at work and I'm not sure if I want to finish the rest of the package. Now that the weekend is here I am starting to feel like myself once again. I wouldn't say that I am giddy or anything, but my mood has improved considerably from the past few days. There are moments when I skim the previous entries and I frighten myself. It sounds bizarre even to me and I was the person who scrawled them. Twelve more days until Christmas and it still really hasn't affected me at all. My overall exposure to the media event of Christmas has been very limited and we can even turn the muzak off at work when it gets to be too much for us. On a more personal level, I still haven't gotten a tree and my interest in getting one has waned. I guess that I could just put the lights up that I bought over a week ago instead of a tree. Most of my neighborhood has been decorated for weeks, but it wasn't until last night that the eight foot santa make his yearly appearance down the block. I am not exaggerating the size either. He is definitely larger than life and glows like a small lighthouse in the night. Only if beams of light would shine through his eyes as cars drove by would it be more eerie to me. I ran into Ginkgo and her husband at the video store this evening. It was the first that I had seen or spoken with Ginkgo since I started seeing Brenda. Communication with her had been severed months ago, because Brenda did not like me speaking with other women. Nothing was to come between her and I. She was almost irrational on this point. It was one of many insecurities that she had that I do not miss. I started to think some more about the small reading list that I had made yesterday. The list does not contain any of the New Yorker issues that I read every week or the the various novels that I started but never finished. For some reason I have to get past the first thirty pages of a book before I can finish it. If I fail to read more than thirty in the initial sitting then I never seem to get back to it. My hope is that next year my average books per month will increase in number. The title of Friday's entry had to do with the color of the sky. Each day as the sun sets there is a thin band of copper near the horizon that bleeds into the darker violet of the night sky. Since I live at the top of a hill I can see this ring of color at the base of the dome in a one hundred eighty degree arc as I drive west.
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