please rest your hand in the small of my back

i am nonsensically hyperactive, dithering about in an insomniac aspic, far too amused by my own stupidity. spacy and disinterested at work. i need to shut my mouth a bit more. 'low spark of high-heeled boys' was on the hi-fi as i drove home. i once played that for someone who claimed to not like it. that is fucking blasphemy.
i had an unsettling dream about j. in the dream we were in a warehouse of sorts and somehow i realized that he was actually nosferatu. "he knows that i know!" i thought. "i am in danger!" i attempted to escape via a catwalk... quietly exited through a door that led to a fire escape... the door latched shut behind me despite my efforts. as i crept down the stairs i saw him on the lawn below, walking his dog, Feigning Normality. it was too late to turn around, so i approached him cheerily, straining to appear casual. i woke up in a bad state. it was four am. i have not been back to sleep since, apart from nodding off on my couch around 7 in the grey dawn and waking up about ten minutes later to the fucking cat micturating on the fucking carpet. fortunately my day did improve since then.
it is hard to concentrate on work when i am obsessing about carnalities.
enough of that thought pattern. this is a family blog.
blog is a fucking horrid word.
i suppose i am not much a fan of the hard g.
we were planning to watch 'mulholland drive' tonight. i am far too dingy (both hard and soft g) of physique and spirit to pull that off. i plan on going back to my lair and passing out in akimbo wistful abandon.
but first! a reminder that the details make the whole:
today: roe v wade 1973. lots of toast. the revelry of a very fucking excellent 2nd mix through the unnervingly grey freewayscape. large paraparetic dogs drenching their cages with urine. the completely feather-plucked conure. catty comments about the obstreporous male tech. the fucking undisciplined dog with the bone protruding from his ass and the hysterical slurring owner. the multiple orders of soy chai being called out from the counter. muddy waters. reading his blog and grinning foolishly. terrible generic jazz is playing here. this particular cafe, off the beaten path a bit, has a late-90s vibe about it though it was just opened last year. there is something icky and unsettling about a place that adheres to 'trendy'- like the ghostly hotel lounges of dusty mauve and vile florals, perpetually 1983, artificial plants gathering dust, retirees in poly-blends sipping flavored coffees as advertised on the tabletop paper foldy-thingies.
i am fucking tired. babbling. but not as a brook, nay, rather as a stagnant pool. a pool where things grow and grow slimy all at once.