On boundless inanity

I really ought to go to sleep, but I procrastinate, as usual, even though my brain feels like it's made of moth balls and cotton candy. Rambling on seems like a decent activity, except that I don't have any alcohol on me and my sleep-deprived ramblings are a lot less interesting than my alcohol-driven ones.

Speaking of sleep deprivation, I think I actually had a bout of microsleep on the phone today while making a phone call. I was asking a question of the noble people over at Delta Airmiles. The actual question escapes me, but when the representative asked me a question in return, I had already fallen into a brief sleep on the phone. I recall being cognizant of the fact that I had been asked a question, and I thought that I had answered it...but in fact I'd only dreamed that I'd given an answer. I realized this and promptly woke up, just in time to hear the representative go, "Hello?"

Speaking of dreams, I had an interesting one last night. It involved several Chinese people putting on a very bad play, in which a girl missed her cue and then promptly knocked over a prop. The odd thing (and there is always an odd thing) was that the play seemed to be taking place in the Virginia Tech War Memorial Gym...which any Hokie will tell you isn't the most optimal place to be staging a play. The prop that had been knocked over was a stack of presents, which had been sitting underneath a rather improbable Christmas tree on the edge of a gym railing. While the cast attempted to push their way to the end of the play through pantomime, I made a hasty retreat downstairs. My father, who lives in Hong Kong, happened to be coming up the stairs at the same time. He patted me on the back, and I could only roll my eyes, thinking, "Well, there goes Dad again, up to watch another god-awful Chinese play." Which, of course, is wrong, because my father has never seen a play in his life, Chinese or otherwise.

And then, for no reason at all, as I headed toward the locker rooms I decided to jump into a ballet point in my sneakers. When I executed it perfectly, feeling as weightless as though I were underwater, I realized that something was wrong. I am quite incapable of doing a ballet point, even in hard-toed boots. I am also about a hundred and sixty pounds too heavy to be weightless. This fact somehow got through to me, and I promptly thought, "You know, I do believe I'm dreaming. I should wake up now."

And I did.

Now I sort of wish I'd done something better with my absolute control of my dream realm. Summoning legions and legions of gorgeous, muscular men comes to mind. Or leveling mountains with a wave of my hand. Either one would've been satisfactory. As in they would have satisfied something. I've always wanted to level a mountain. I've always wanted legions and legions of gorgeous, muscular men. Perhaps I should combine the two, and level a mountain by gesturing to my legions of gorgeous, muscular men.

Ah, does my inanity know no bounds?