I woke up after one of those dreams, the ones where somebody was in it or something happened but you can't remember what. I hate those; I'd rather have perfect recall than this cloud of familiarity that hazes around my head and will continue well into the evening. It's like remembering some small item or image from a book but not the page number, so you flip through the entire book probably more than once and miss whatever it is each and every time.
In about half an hour I'm going to see Samara, we'll do lunch because we haven't seen each other in quite some time and need very much to catch up. After that I have to walk over to Pandora to pick up money from Joy so I can pay for the garage sale ad she placed, while she's at work. This means I have to walk over to the Times Colonist which is a bit dubious.
After the newspaper offices, I'll bus up to Hillside Mall and dump the rented DVD that Matthew accidentally left in my apartment this weekend into an envelope and send it on to him. Then I'm going to walk home and think about a story for a while, eat some pepper smoked salmon and pasta for dinner before writing for a few hours. I'd like to write this morning but as usual there's something missing, some important ingredient...
...which will probably turn out to be this dream, whatever it was. Maybe that's the missing element. If I think about it while I'm up at the mall I might pick myself up a box or two of raspberries to feast upon.
Work has been scarce this week, I missed a spot under my jaw when I was shaving this morning, and I've grown melancholy because of Simon and Garfunkel.