Why I hate my brain, but love a good B&B.

Lately I’ve been waking up around 4am from vivid dreams completely unable to go back to sleep. This is a painful affliction for one who loves to sleep as much as I do, because I refuse to relinquish the lost hours, but rather get up and read for a while and then go back to bed as the sun is coming up and Z is getting up and refuse to leave until I’ve had all the sleep that is rightfully mine, which is usually not until well after 9am, which is when I’d agreed I would be up and ready to go to the library yes I promise I SWEAR the night before.

I usually wake up already having some train of real-life thought that has nothing to do with the dream in progress, like my unconscious is tuned to two different stations at once and one is all And then the girl committed suicide and left the note that you had to burn in the art room but the detectives put the ashes back together just in time for the teaching demo portion of your job interview and they made you copy the note out on a broken Xerox machine that only printed half pages and you had to deliver an extemporaneous lecture on the dead girl’s poetry and then lead a discussion on facing the afterlife and you’d better hurry and get in there before the flood comes and the alligators wash in and OH MY GOD HERE THEY COME1 and the other is all And you need toilet paper, and you haven’t recharged your phone in three days and maybe you’ve missed some calls, and you have to update your LJ even though you have nothing to write about, and what was the deadline for that paper proposal for that conference and what conference was that anyway?, and I think your library books were due yesterday.2

My brain is very, very annoying.

My point is, this is not a real post because I’m technically in my Work Office, a.k.a my campus office, a.k.a the one space in my life where I am not going to habituate myself to falling down the black hole of cyberspace the minute I walk through the door, and I’m in the middle of trying to figure out if I want my library of literary criticism organized chronologically by time period, thematically by primary philosophical intervention, or alphabetically by author, which is taking longer than I thought it would when I first introduced all three possibilities (again, BRAIN, you’re on my list).3 No, I’m just popping in to (temporarily) cross LJ off the list of things that continuously parade through the avenues of my consciousness trumpeting the fact that they are not done.

But while I’m here, I thought I’d let you know that Z and I made it back from our trip, a bit road-weary but perfectly intact. We spent Friday night at a lovely B&B in St. Louis called Napoleon’s Retreat, a 19th-century townhouse in the city’s Historic District run by two friendly and fastidious hosts, Michael and Jeff. We stayed in the Lafayette Room, pictured here:

The inn is just around the corner from Lafayette Square, which features (among other establishments) a wine bar, a bar & grill, and a chocolate bar, all of which we happily patronized.

And now I must return to my goddamn books.

1Actual dream from last night.a

2I omitted money-related thoughts from this general representation of the kind of mundane worries I’m talking about because they will be boring for you to read and anxiety-inducing for me to consider, but they are usually prevalent.

3So far today I have devoted several hours to this problem. I have not yet begun actually to install the books on the shelves in the order yet to be determined.

aI’m glad that lagizma, at least, appreciated my nerdy footnote innovation, introduced in the previous post. I’m actually fashioning them manually with superscript and dividing lines. I suppose I realized that since my thoughts tend to be footnoted, my journal content should be too. I also realize, however, that the footnoted footnote, while charming to fans of, say, Nicholson Baker,i is generally excessive and tedious, and I promise not to abuse it.ii

iWhich I am.

iiOkay, I’ll stop now.

8 thoughts on “Why I hate my brain, but love a good B&B.

  1. Well, here’s how I scan LJ entries. I look at the pictures first (yeah, I’m really only 14 years old; I’ve been faking it), then I read.

    So, I figured that your “apartment” in Arkansas was really a castle and your were showing us a picture of your newly remodeled bedroom. But N-O-O-O-O-O-O!

    Glad you had a good trip.

    Odd dreaming. Last night, I woke up at about 3 a.m., with a perfectly formed outline for an essay combining two of the books I’m reading — Sartre’s The Flies and Karen Armstrong’s A Short History of Myth. It revolved around the role of Zeus in the play and what Armstrong calls The Axial Age. It was very clear and, in my 3 a.m. mind, quite persuasive. I didn’t get up and write it.

    You won’t see that post this evening. Maybe in a couple days, I’ll be able to reconstruct it.

    Footnotes: Footnoted footnotes remind me of Terry Pratchett. Now I have to check out Nicholson Baker.

  2. I have a friend who regularly footnotes her posts. They’re generally useless footnotes, but they’re quite fun to read; I’m an obsessive fan of parenthesis myself, and so rarely use footnotes outside of academic compostitions. And, ummm, letters.

  3. The very, very, very rare award of Actually Making Miss Jessica Laugh Out Loud has been awarded to you tonight. It was the third-deep footnote that got me.

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