Some asshole has just parked in front of our house, and is blocking part of our driveway. They're visiting our next door neighbor. If he's still there when we get ready to leave, I may ask him to move his car and park in the neighbor's driveway.
I would give anything to get a good night's sleep. For the past two weeks, it feels like I sleep for two hours, wake up in a cold sweat, get a drink from the kitchen, stumble back to bed, sleep for two or three more hours, wake up when the dogs or cats start making noise, try to go back to sleep, and by the time I do, it's time for me to get up for work anyway.
My dreams have been really funky as well. For some unknown reason, they keep involving dogs or cats dying, but only famous ones. In one dream, The Crocodile Hunter's dog, Bindi, fell out of a hot air balloon. In another, the dog from Frasier died in the middle of the show. The last one almost makes sense. He's a Jack Russell terrier, the same breed as my dog Edison. He's been behaving sort of strangely the past few months, becoming a real lap dog (that's strange for him, usually a hyper dog). He's also taken to curling up in the very back corner of our closet, hidden by all of the clothes. Kat and I think he may be looking for a place to die. I hope not. He's only 8 years old, and I don't think I could handle him dying right now.
Kat and I are planning a weekend getaway for the end of this month. A three-day whirlwind trip to Philly and DC. At the same time, we sent in our tax returns this week, which will pay for the trip. We didn't send them electronically, however. It's going to be a race to see if either the state or federal refund gets here (direct deposit) before we are supposed to leave. If it doesn't, I don't know what we'll do for money.