B-22 Cult

This morning I woke up from a dream feeling like a little stone. You know the good old "if you have a pillow, replace it with a stone"? Not necessary. I make my own stone. My shoulder hurt from being pressed into the mattress. It was as though someone said "do an interpretive dance of being a stone" and my interpretation was to go to sleep like that. Also, I slept without a blanket. Just a sheet. Do you know what extremes it takes for me to do that? Summer Weather. Not summer, because there is no consistency in it, but Summer Weather. And I slept through the night without waking up and frantically pulling on my comforter. Maybe that accounts for the stony insensibility.

In other news, the weekend is rapidly approaching. That means that for the first time since September, Laurel, Lis, Toni & I will be in the same place at the same time. (Do we have a name, girls? I was going to call us the B-22 Cult but that's Bif, too. And we had Maren we lived together.) That same place will be the Meet & Greet section of the Portland Airport, where TnE and I will attempt to recognize Laurel and speculate on how she might have changed over the past 8-9 months. As in, "Maybe that's Laurel. If she had a baby and dyed her hair." Or, "Maybe that's her. If she got a mysterious disease that aged her forty years." You know, the usual.

I'm trying to muster some thoughtful, friendshippy words, but all it basically comes down to is that I can't wait to have us all together, and to do our thing. I'm not very eloquent at the moment, but I love them more than gold or silver.

[I interrupt this programming for a newsflash: I just discovered a rather large smear of butter on my arm. I have no idea how it got there. I haven't been near any butter. Katy, have you been laying butter traps again?]

-jessmonster, cult member