recounting the strange is like telling one's dreams

• Oh my God, The Bridge! It's turning into the next Game of Thrones for killing off my favorite characters, but I can't stop watching. Best new show since...ever.
• Laundry night. Sigh. I'm looking forward to the idea that someday laundry will involve significantly fewer boring, ugly socks in the summertime.
• I love Shaggy. It's becoming a joke, how much I adore him. The latest punchline is that "it's because we look so much alike," but that's as good a reason as any.
• We all know that I have atrociously expensive taste in clothes, but when push comes to shove I'm pretty frugal. My latest find is "my favorite t" at Kohl's. Yeah, I don't get too crazy on my color choices, but I know what I like. Still, the shirts look great on, wear well, and are reasonably priced.
• I experienced a blast from the past today. I was going to say that I "enjoyed" it, but that's a bit much. A fella that I used to know crept back into my realm, with the intent to do more than that (but the word "crept" is apt enough). Since he's been gone without a trace for nearly a year and owes me more than a little money, I'd "despaired" of ever hearing from him again—well, if the despair could be limited onto to idea of how welcome the money would be. Still and all, it was not that difficult to be rid of him once again, requiring only a couple of reminders of the debt. It's nice to be admired, but not nice enough for this kind of hassle. And I suppose it doesn't reflect well on me that, upon reading in a text message, "I love you," my first thought is, "What's your angle?" Except that there's always an angle. 
• Dream analysis time. I'm having a recurring dream, for the last couple of weeks, about a former boyfriend. In the dream, we are still a couple after all this time, though at the same point in the relationship that we were when it ended, i.e. not having progressed beyond the same stupid shit that made us break up in the first place. However, there were some good times, even then, and that's what's happening in the dreams: we're out for dinner, we're at the movies, we're spending time with his family. Good stuff. Only, every now and then, he calls me "kitten." He never did that in real life, and it would have seemed odd coming from him. When I wake from these dreams, that's what I'm left with—what the Hell is he doing calling me that?! Not "why are we dating?!" or "Why HIM for God's sake?" Just, "Kitten?!!"
• So sleepy. I'd go to bed right now if it weren't for the clothes in the dryer. Stupid cleanliness, ruining all my fun.

[the title quotation is by Neil Gaiman, from Fragile Things, and reads in its entirety: “Recounting the strange is like telling one's dreams: one can communicate the events of a dream, but not the emotional content, the way that a dream can colour one's entire day.”]