I stopped drinking coffee habitually soon after we returned from our Oregon trip (pictures of the trip, not the withdrawal will be available on my facebook soon).  It wasn't because of my delicate condition of pregnancy, but rather because I found that I had to force myself to finish each cup of coffee.  How did it stop tasting good to me?  I haven't been very productive since then.  How discouraging to find that most of my energy was completely fake.

Today I haven't accomplished much of anything (except a Father's Day Project which I think is going to be awesome) and so I decided to have a cup of coffee.  It tasted pretty good.  Only I still don't feel much like working around the house.  Here I sit in the middle of a very dirty and messy house, blogging.  I guess coffee doesn't change who I am, but rather makes me more of who I am: a slob... but a jittery one.

It's been 20 minutes since I finished that cup of coffee.  The caffeine should be fully in my system now... and the room is spinning.

In less than 48 hours we'll be in Wilsonville, Oregon.  Although with Pacific vs. Eastern time, I don't know how that will work.

Anyway.  I have nothing packed.  But I'm not letting this damper my excitement.  Aren't you proud of me?

Here's the thing about that scary dream in which you become an adolescent boy and the only real human survivor of a global freeze trying to escape from Mel Gibson who has become a crazy, boy-eating, rabid, feral dog: you know you're just in a movie and that he is just acting.  But as he drags your pretending-to-be-dead body over a waterfall (why didn't that freeze?) in a drawstring plastic bag, you just want to wake up, and return to your nice, safe woman self in her nice safe, non-adolescent world.  Here's the thing: you don't go back to sleep.