Wide Eyed Somnambulism

I have a feeling this whole week's going to seem like a dream. Everything seems harder without caffeine. I keep stopping in my work and just staring, not thinking of anything. Just blank. Aside from these bouts of sickness, I've had at least two cups of coffee every day since I was seventeen or eighteen years old. I suspect it's totally supplanted the function of something in my head that has long since withered and died away.

I dreamt I was at an indoor mall where an old woman was drawing a crowd by delivering some passionate oration in Navajo. There was a little boy whining, "I don't want to hear Navajo!"

I turned a corner and ran into Conrad Veidt, dressed as he was in his role as the somnambulist in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, probably because I watched that movie before going to bed. He was carrying the big doll version of himself in a pale yellow cardboard box with a transparent, cellophane front, as though he'd just bought the doll at the toy store. He seemed both really excited to see me and sort of sorry to see me.

I told him how much I loved his performance in The Thief of Bagdad, and he seemed pleased.

I've now begun five paragraphs with "I." Sorry, Jedediah. Here;

Determined not to have trouble with to-day's katakana quiz, I spent some time writing each character twenty times, repeating them each aloud as I wrote. That should do it. I hope. I also did a couple pages of homework, conjugating verbs. I kind of can't tell how well I'm doing, or how well I would be doing if I could bloody think. But I'm doing.