On the way home from the lindy workshop just now there were two sundogs, hanging low in the sky over downtown Seattle. Very pretty. Made me happy.

I played well at Ultimate again today. "ON FIRE!" as one teammate put it. If, each time I play, I continue to play better than the last... well, that can only lead to good things.

I sat next to a young, handsome guy on the bus this morning. We smiled, said hello, and I settled into my seat to read my book.

Then the bus went over a bit of a bump, causing my purse to fall off my lap and spill all over the floor. Great. Just like me. The picture of grace.

With what little dignity I could muster, I picked everything up and put it all away again. The guy next to me picked up a quarter that I had missed and handed it to me. I thanked him and we both settled back into our own little routines.

A while later, my seatmate spoke to me again. He said that when I spilled my purse, he realized that he recognized me from rides past and that the first time he remembered seeing me, he had spilled apple cider all over the bus floor.

I remembered the spill in question, but didn't remember him and hadn't remembered that he had been responsible. We reminisced for a few moments -- we both remembered another guy on the bus who had gotten really annoyed about the spill, shooting glares that could kill as he pulled his backpack up and out of the path of the spreading puddle. That broke the ice and we chatted a little bit more throughout the course of the bus ride. It was nice. Usually people are so closed off on the bus; it was a nice change to connect with someone. And it wouldn't have happened if he and I hadn't both at various points exposed ourselves in a moment of awkward discomfiture.

When I do dumb, clumsy things, I get to feeling like I'm an oddity. Everyone else is so put together, and here I am constantly knocking things off tables and spilling things all about. It's nice to connect once in a while and realize that other people are human and occasionally make klutzy mistakes, as well.

The last few nights while I slept, I've dreamt of dancing. Throughout the night I am constantly adjusting my frame to connect better with the mattress, my pillows, anything next to me. I'm pulling my body upwards, making slight and subtle movements in response to strains of music wafting through my consciousness.

This carries through from the dreams into the half-conscious state between waking and dreaming. It all makes sense to me as I initially drift toward consciousness, but then I realize that I've just reached out in a swaying arc to connect with my alarm clock -- who dances with their alarm clock?! Who except me, I guess.

At least I'm not dreaming in C or Scheme these days. Not dreaming of differential equations. That was just too much, too geeky, too much immersion in my studies. I can handle dreaming in dance.

I'm doin' my taxesss
fun fun fun fun
can hardly contain myself
it's a party no doubt

When I was hanging out with Steve and Melissa, we amused ourselves for a while by googling people's names. While playing this game, we came across the journal of a girl who had travelled Europe in the same travel group as Steve had, who had apparently been halfway in love with him without his ever knowing it! Melissa and I were endlessly amused. Steve was aghast. Wouldn't let us read much of it; said we'd have to find it again later when he wasn't around to suffer.

Funny, the stuff you can find on the web if you only look for it.

"I'd rather be skeptical and pleasantly surprised than overly hopeful and bitterly disappointed," I told Steve and Melissa just now. Steve thought I should post the philosophy on my blog, so here it is.

Going to go hang out with Steve and do laundry at his place. Gotta love friends who can just chill with you, even when you're doing dorky things like bringing your laundry over. Steve is so awesome.

My little sister hates feet. And socks. And anything foot related, really. Even her own feet and own socks.

She does this thing where she hides all her dirty socks in discreet piles here and there. Sometimes she hides them so discreetly that she forgets about them. It's quite endearing.

I just found a sock-pile from this weekend. She hung out at my place and took care of all the critters while I was down in Portland, and I guess she missed this pile when she packed up to leave. Ah, Mary, Mary.

I've been having strange dreams again.

Two of my birds died in my dream last night. I was sad. I can still see the stiff, lifeless bodies in my mind.

Instead of burying them, I waded into the middle of a flowing river to set them to rest. I carried them in one of my pans, and as I gently tipped the pan to set the bodies afloat, watching them drift slowly down into the depths of the water beyond sight, the pan slipped out of my hands. I cried out. Wayne dived in to grab the pan, but he never came up again -- disappeared beneath the water as well.

Then I woke up.

I can't make anything of the dream. Not sure what it all means.

I think I am allergic to shrimp. Alex and I go out for sushi quite a bit, and so often afterwards I feel achey, tired, and out of sorts.

For a while I thought it might be sake, or the soy sauce, or perhaps squid. A few times recently I've had all of those but no shrimp -- and no achiness! Today, again, a full and lovely lunch (minus the shrimp), and I felt great afterwards.

I like shrimp, too. Bullocks.

I dance so much better when I'm dancing with people who really want to dance with me. Not because they want to be dancing and I'll do for a partner, not because they're trying to make the rounds of the room, but sharing dances with me for the sake of dancing with me. The music moving us both, the both of us enjoying one another to the music. The enjoying one another being key.

I miss Portland.

If you do a google search on my name, this site comes up now as the third hit. It's like I actually exist or something!



(This site didn't used to come up at all. A google search back then just brought up a million sites on a million other Kathryn Kruegers who weren't actually me.)

The weekend was awesome! Ask me about it, and I may tell. I may or may not write about it -- we'll see if the mood hits.