Endagered species

Last night I got in bed at 9:03. Exhausted from a late night birthday party and a long day spent walking, my eyes closed and re-opened at 9:20. Done sleeping. Ready to go.

Tossing and turning for the next two hours negate the hopes of waking at 6:30 to Get Shit Done before work. This morning I snoozed over and over, dreaming crazy dreams of secretly being a Russian rock star, confronting someone at work who was spreading rumors that I smell, speaking in French with friends (discussing said smell, I suppose) and realizing that my accent has gone to shit.

Dreams about losing my accent (and my vocabulary- in the dream, it took me 5 minutes to think of the word for garbage) get under my skin in a panicking way. I look at the calendar. Forty-six days until France.

It can't come soon enough.