So, this may not come as a surprise to anyone, but I'm apparently not a nice person. I just logged on to facebook a few minutes ago and saw that the ex so famously flamed on my previous blog had just listed himself as single again. I wasn't snooping, he was not on my mind, but when that showed up in the facebook feed I investigated. And then I left a snarky comment about how cute it was that he continued to update his shaky relationship status for all the world to see. On his wall. Which I subsequently deleted, but probably not before it got sent to his inbox. And then I deleted my next comment, which was only slightly less pointed. Then I apologized for being a jerk and wrote that I hope he's doing well.

Beauty of the "delete" function aside, just what in the hell is my problem? He doesn't bother me. I just saw the update and had an instantaneous mean thought. And then I basically pinched him, internet-style. I don't want to be cruel. But I really wish that you could just JAB people sometimes, really POKE THE FUCK out of someone, for no reason other than that the action itself is appealing, and not have to suffer any consequences.

He should probably unfriend me. These nasty impulses are exactly why I unfriended him in the first place. But he friended me back. For some reason he thinks that I am a worthwhile person to be friends, albeit e-friends, with. Now, if it were me trying to refriend him, I would be pretty honest with myself and others that I was doing it to spy on him (things like relationship updates) so that I could cackle to myself. But I suppose he isn't like that, or at least he isn't comfortable thinking of himself like that. If he unfriends me now I will feel guilty.

Which is appropriate, true. But not pleasant! Not my preferred method of feeling! My preferred feeling is...ambivalence, I guess. But I don't get to enjoy that one very often. I'm too high-strung.

Anyway, Doug, if you're lurking out there, I'm sorry that I pinched you. Hopefully you didn't even notice. Unfriend me if you must.

I've been having these dreams, these very strange dreams. They take place in scenes from films that I vaguely recognize, or in my parents' houses. I don't know anyone in them, no one seems familiar. They are largely incomprehensible, with no narrative structure that I can discern. When I wake up I have this very strong sensation that there is something that I have forgotten, a thing that had to get done a long time ago and has now reached the point of crisis. It's the sensation that you get when you wake up after your alarm has gone off and you're late for some really important event, except more profound. I know that I am driving W crazy, trying to get him to talk to me late at night, but I feel very vaguely anxious. I am worried that we will forget the wedding rings and fly home without them, or that somehow we won't be able to get our marriage license, or that it'll turn out that we need passports to get into Puerto Rico after all and our honeymoon we be ruined. I am concerned that the house will catch fire.

Last night I was up for hours trying to plan what I would take in the event of a fire. I thought that it was possible that the chairs in the living room were pushed too close to the electric heater, and that the cushions might catch flame. But I didn't get up to move the chairs: I couldn't. I just lay there, trying to think of a way to get all the animals out in one armful, whether to bring the guitars or the external hard drive where all our pictures are stored. The piano would be done for, and we never really enjoyed it. I don't have any printed photographs except the one hanging on the wall and the one on my vanity--in a panic I would surely forget them, and if the external hard drive was lost too then all our pictures would be gone. Once I got the ferret and the cat outside, how would I keep them with me? There would be no way to keep them from getting trampled or lost in the crowd, except to hold them in my arms. They would be frightened, and struggle.

Speaking of the ferret, I think he gave me fleas. My head is itching like crazy. This always happens when I give him a flea bath. Like fleas from a sinking weasel, as they say.

I worry about W riding his bicycle to work every night. What if someone hit him? Just exactly how precarious is this happiness? After agonizing for hours about my imaginary fire evacuation plan, I was only able to go to sleep once I made myself a promise. If I woke up one night and the house was aflame, I would close my eyes. I would lay back on the bed and we would all just stay there together--Vitas and Kasper and the photographs and the guitars and the piano and the computer and the books and gold velvet chair, and me.