I can go one night on six hours sleep, followed by another, but by the third the bill has come due. So I went back to bed this morning after driving the morning car pool, and can report it was the best sleep I’ve had in weeks — 90 minutes of dead-to-the-world REM with actual dreaming. It was the unfinished-house dream, which is the one I have whenever I have work to do. I had dreams last night, too — ones I remember, anyway — in which I was the Cybill Shepherd character in “Taxi Driver,” and was on a date with a faceless man who took me to a dirty movie. Make of that what you will. I didn’t watch the movie. I was waiting for the right moment to make an escape.
All this by way of giving you guys short shrift AGAIN, but I know all anyone wants to talk about today is the last debate, so have at it. Listening from an adjacent room, McCain sounded angry. This is becoming a theme with him, I notice. Personally, I think the anger is self-directed; every time his eyes flash while Obama gives a calm answer, I imagine his train of thought: So, this is my last act. I can’t believe I listened to those people. There’s no fool like an old fool, I guess. I wonder if I have a retirement house in Montana yet. It’s cool up there in the summer — screw Arizona.
But I could be projecting.
Anyway, I have reporting to do. Have at it, my friends, and I’ll be in and out.