Bleh.

Slept perhaps two to three hours last night.  It was hot.  Muggy.  I kept waking up.  This morning I had to get up early to mow the lawn.  I stayed only just awake enough to push the mower in approximately straight lines. 

In those brief intervals of sleep last night, I had peculiar dreams. 

My father was working for the CIA, but they wanted me to analyze a letter he had written in case he was a secret agent. 

Barack Obama was in my kitchen, pondering jogging to a nearby restaurant, despite the rain. 

I was playing what may have been Civ VI on an Apple notepad computer, while hanging out in the Plan B coffeeshop in the Twin Cities, and chatting with a bunch of drunk friends (people I have never met in waking life) who were discussing swingers. 

Weirdly specific?  Yes.  Also very disjointed.  There were many other fragments of dream -- some of them, I know, recurring, like the bizarre notion that one of my uncles lives in a house covered in tar paper and has free-range chickens in his yard.  Not sure why that keeps popping up in dreams, but it does, every few weeks.  Or why, when I visit this tar paper house, it is always early morning, and unseasonably cold.  He's always upset to see me, too, though the reason for it changes from iteration to iteration.


Not sure how awake I am, even now.