Had a few friends over tonight for pizza, to help deplete the still-huge leftover stash of booze from the wedding, and watch movies.
The first one was Groove, about the inner workings of and happenings at a 90's San Francisco rave. Excellent music, lots of dancing, little drama, I liked it.
But boy, a lot of the cuddle-pile scenes in the "chill_room" made me really, really lonely, and achy for contact with people. I found I was leaning up against someone's leg, or reaching out to touch someone else's foot, but that was hardly sufficient.
Suppose it's something from childhood, that I'm so touch-deprived as an adult. I literally cannot get enough of holding hands with or leaning up against people. And friends that tolerate that without misinterpreting it are rare, rare, rare indeed.
I've never been much of a believer in Feng Shui, but I have to say, since rearranging my home office to more suit my tastes, the energy of the room is much improved. It just feels more peaceful, more productive, and more comfortable. I even made room for the waterfall fountain.
Someone gave me a glass crystal with a really interesting spiral faceting pattern on it. I hung it in the window (using the neck chain on which I wore the wedding ring from my first marriage, hm) and when it's sunny it throws dozens of beautiful rainbows onto the far wall.
Now I need to hang the art, and procure a reading lamp to put next to Gina's couch so it is usable.
Nap dreams are sometimes the best, because for me they are usually short vignettes instead of long, convoluted, plot-laden things. I prefer short stories to novels anyway.
In my little nap dream, I'm waiting to board a commercial flight, but there has been some difficulty and I am held back at the gate. They finally tell me I can get on the plane, and I'm led by the agent to a heavy door. After a rather complex interaction with some kind of CRT-terminal-thing next to the door, a bunch of lights turn green and with a hiss of equalizing pressure à laThe Andromeda Strain it swings open to reveal the airport ramp itself. My plane, a DC-9, is there, with those old rickety air-stairs leading up to it.
"There you go," the agent says. "Just like in the old days. Go ahead and get aboard." With that, he disappears back into the terminal and the door pulls shut. It's really loud, and I have to put my fingers in my ears, because the aircraft's engines are already running. I make my way to the air stairs, only to find that they're already folded back most of the way into the plane (not that they actually do this on a DC-9) and the cabin hatch is already closed and sealed.
Shit, I think, I'm out here on the ramp all by myself, and if I can't figure out a way to get on that plane, I'm going to get shot. I'm considering whether or not it would be smart to pound on the fuselage underneath the cockpit to get the attention of one of the pilots when I wake up, left with a strong sense of anxiety about just how I was going to be able to get on that plane, and what would happen if I couldn't.