So I went outside today when I got home. It was a nice night out, good temperature, nice driving.

The first thing I noticed were the stars. There weren't many, but on a clear night you can see a lot. It wasn't very clear today, there was a smattering of clouds. Somewhere in the distance lighting was flashing. But what really caught my eye was the distinction in the clouds offered by the city glow from over the horizon. Not the washing out of moonlight, nor the distraction of lawn nights. It was perfect clouds, with perfectly clear night in between. Beautiful, like they describe in the books.

Then the wind blew. It was a chill wind, it made me shiver. Made me feel alive, even, raising the goosebumps over my skin, but it reminded me of nice things. Beaches, Europe, the good stuff. Its not often that I just stand without a shirt on and let wind make me rough all over.

I sniffed at the air, for with it came the scent of the honeysuckle bush. Now, there's the smell of honeysuckle as it just sits there, and there's the smell that wafts to you on the air. Kinda like some foods, its a scent better served chill, and fresh. I haven't smelled anything as good, or real,  in a very long time.

I just stood there, taking in all these things, just letting my three senses take over. I haven't really paid so much attention to them in... well, ever. Usually I have a book or laptop open wherever I go, or I retreat into the safe harbor of my thoughts, since as long as I'm tied up with myself nothing outside can affect me. This, despite being only a scant few minutes long, was the vacation I'd been looking for all summer. A book-perfect moment of nature, where things look as good as only the ambiguity of night can make them look. 

It was good enough to actually get me to stop thinking about anything, from the way past, to tomrrow, to the intesrting time of barely a couple hours ago. Well, interetsting in its actual details, but quite boring in terms of a way overused plot and script.

I went inside, then, as sleep called me. That, and I needed to write an LJ post.

"I put on my glasses and doctor's scrubs..."

I <3 them. Too bad they only clean your skin though. Someone ought to work on that. Like, "Dove, now with a special soul soothing formula!" or "Bath and Body Works: Foaming Sin Cleanser." Heck, I'd settle for Victoria's Secret special edition Endorphine Flush.

Sleep is supposed to be this restful thing. You shutdown your brain, you might dream a bit, and when you wake up you're refreshed from a few hours of not-caring.

Well, what happens when your dreams just reinforce some fact about life that you're not happy with?

I will admit, usually going to sleep is like suspending for me; my brain turns off, but when I wake up its right back on track where it was before. Sometimes I even dream about stuff that I was thinking about before I went to sleep.

Sometimes, though, I don't even get that little bit of rest. Sometimes even my dreams go "hey, you, the one thats dreaming this up: check this out!" and usually its not something I wish to confont. It is on these far-too-frequent occasions that I wake up grumpy, and will usually be snappish all day, instead of actually having an hour or so of happiness before everything finally settles down again.

So, I say again. Screw dreams.

Apparently being happy == being creepy == acting differently than I have been in a while.

What the hell is wrong with the world. Photoshopping Goatse is not weird, making comments about how a bagger @ KGB was cute and then being happy about a 3-D Tic-Tac-Toe program I helped code are weird.

God. Damn. It.