I finally spotted Hot English Teacher today. I now know where her desk is and have two days to formulate something clever that I will never say to her. I pretty much can't arrange a "chance" meeting, so I'm either going to have to be awkward, walk up and say "Hi, do you want to go on a date?" or just never say anything. I'd like to do the former, but history sides with the latter. I thought I spotted HET last week, but nay, I was mistaken. As I was walking toward the study areas, I saw a very professional-looking, adult dressed female walking with a stack of papers towards the English study area where the teachers' desks are located. I too quickly assumed that this must be HET and used my higher vantage point (the study areas are tiered and English is on the bottom) to watch her walk to her desk. However, she didn't walk to a teacher desk. She walked to a student desk. Where her pink backpack was sitting. I instantly felt like a pervert and avoided the English area for the rest of the day. HUG sits in the same seat every day. I wonder if she can feel my seething anger because I shoot eye daggers at her every time I walk by.
Jeff and I worked out tonight for the first time in almost a week. When I got back from Lincoln at 10pm (sorry Chelsea, I got a late start and couldn't hang out), Jeff was already asleep. This isn't the first time this happened. Both Wednesday and Thursday of last week we fell asleep on the couches at around 8pm, and Jeff has been falling asleep on the couch by 9pm every night this week. It's like we're 87. Granted, we both have to be up at around 6:30-7ish, but we should still be able to make it until 11 or 12. Pitiful.
I forgot the James/Kearney/Plague dream, although I remember that I again woke up in a cold sweat and scared poo-less. I blame my new mattress. I haven't had any bad dreams since those two consecutive nights, but I did get the death feeling again the other night. I'm pretty sure that I've blogged about it before, but a brief recap of my death feeling: I close my eyes to fall asleep and realize that one day I will die. I feel hollow when it happens, and I get scared because I don't know what happens after we die. I like to think that we get reborn or that we go to some paradise (call it what you will), but my realism kicks in and figures that we probably just die and rot; fingernails and hair continuing to grow for a few days or weeks and then nothing. In the past I couldn't sleep when I would get this feeling. Over the years, I've learned to just read a book for a bit and then I'm fine again. I'm hoping that the old box spring will spread good mojo on the bad vibe of the new mattress, but if not, I'll have my mom bring up the dream catcher I made in elementary school. I don't believe in a lot of mystic stuff, but it never hurts.
I didn't play poker today. I was tired and busy. I don't know if I'll get any in tomorrow or Friday either, but I will definitely degen it up this weekend.
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