There were a few things I wanted to accomplish this past weekend, but I was knocked down by some illness. I slept through most of it. I don’t blame the flu shot I had on Wednesday – I’d been feeling under the weather before I got the shot – but I think it might have weakened me.
I had the apartment to myself for long stretches of time – Phillip went to a NorWesCon meeting on Saturday, and he went to go see a movie on Sunday. That made the sensation of drifting in and out of sleep, and not being able to figure out what I’d experienced or what I’d dreamed, all the stranger.
There was a time this weekend when I was seriously wondering if our apartment is haunted.
The alarm woke me up for work this morning, and I had a vague sensation that I was missing something. There was something I needed to do, or some change I needed to make in my routine, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. I suspect that it was the remnant of some not-remembered dream.
It may be a coincidence, or maybe not, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the works of Haruki Murakami, and specifically Kafka on the Shore. Parts of it are making sense. Things are fitting together. I’m forming a theory. I can’t figure out how to write specifics without spoiling plot points. I really do love that novel.