"Try taking your meds earlier in the evening," he said. "That might change their effect," he said. Not quite. I drift off to sleep at 7 pm, dream a whole horror story from Rod Serling's Triple W (witches, warlocks and werewolves, IIRC, though I only remember one warlock story), and wake from the tangled unpleasant web of ghostly beings and rape some eight hours later to discover my time sense has gone westward-jet-lag and it's barely midnight. Take out lens, stumble back to bed, sleep another eight hours body-time and wake to continued darkness. It's barely 5 am. And I'm still sleepy. So lie abed in the snug and do a recap of my childhood Christmas mornings where the hours go by and it never gets any lighter and maybe the sun has forgotten to come up today?
But OK, the sun did come up and it's a Tokyo Christmas morning. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate and happy holidays to those who get them.
So now my s-i-l is talking about cooking a suckling pig. 'But is your oven big enough?' her daughter asks. 'Oh no, we'd have to do it outside on a grill' says L, which ok maybe you can do on an apartment balcony, but suggests more strongly that she thinks she'll be here next summer.
Unless she's intending to cook suckling pig amidst the winter snow.
Went to Starbuck's for my morning latte, not as good as my local but oh well. Local is closed till after New Year's while the owner (s-i-l's grandson's girlfriend) visits family in Vancouver. Came home and fell asleep again. This unwonted somnolence is, well, unwonted. Considered opening my presents but did laundry instead because it was that kind of a day, so I left my prezzies as a post-dinner treat/ cheer-me-up.
But when I got to them after an abstemious repast (mustn't drink if I'm going to keep falling asleep, shouldn't drink if my sinuses are as clogged as they are)-- the day took a happy turn for the better. Incandescens' big squashy parcel turned out to be a thick hand-knitted shawl in my fave shades of wine and deep burgundy, and I'm currently wrapped up in it urm trying not to fall asleep again, because it conduces to comfy coziness and closed eyes and, well, sleep. It has the usual faint perfume of all G's productions, because she washes her hands in Lush soap while making them, and Lush is nothing if not tenacious. But in small quantities it's very Heian, and I appreciate it. So thanks very much, G.
Also there was an amusing present from a coworker, the most recent hire who, mindful of the undepaid life of an assistant, always gives me appreciation gifts at Christmas. Her Christmas bag contained socks (you remember that at a certain age socks become a welcome gift?) of a much better quality than my dollar store ones, as well as a small box of very good fair trade chocolates. And at the bottom was a small heavy oblong thing which- well, you see, whenever people at work say 'Oh thanks so much for helping out when we were short-staffed/ covering me when I got stuck in the subway/ taking care of the garbage and the diapers and the laundry', charmless me can be heard answering 'If you really want to thank me, buy me some gin.' So this time, K did. Bombay Sapphire, my tipple of choice.
Thus to all, and especially me, a good night.