It finally rained and I had a nightmare that jolted me awake.
I suppose it’s a delayed reaction from my trauma response earlier this spring.
We toured the new apartment today. It’s right down the railroad tracks and has a tropical courtyard with a smoker’s section so I can feel welcome to slip down the stairs at night when a nicotine craving hits and not feel guilty or strange.
Our apartment is upstairs, kiddy corner to the communal washer and dryer. The watershed rain had fallen suddenly and was still simmering in the South Florida sunshine when we toured the property. The gutters kept pouring residual water down on the pavement. Our closet space is ample so my kid sister is happy she’ll have plenty of space for her shoes. I like the kitchen a great deal.
We both agreed we’d miss our little Lizard Dog, Schmoopy. He was waiting for us when our Uber got back to the house, right in his usual spot.
I’m almost done with my Larry McMurtry book and am semi-unsure of what book I’ll delve into next. Raymond Chandler, Thomas Harris, and Stephen King are all on the docket.
Will today be the day I finally make myself that grouper sandwich I’ve been craving or will I renege and go for a frozen enchilada?
That nightmare shook me up pretty ugly. I should really rewatch 3 Women.
Nightingale 
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