I awoke from a dream this morning. In this dream, I was preparing to run my first marathon and I was very uneasy. After I woke up, I was seized with an overwhelming desire to train for and run in a marathon. I'm of the opinion that dreams can be a window into the subconscious, if a blurry, cracked one, and it took this desire a few hours to wane. I did go for a brief run later in the evening, but by the time I got out on the road my heart just wasn't in it and I only did a lap around the block. ("The block" meaning heading left at the intersection, going past the reservoir and the elementary school.)
My uncle Chris came out to stay a few nights today. Chris is from Alfred, a small college town in western New York and home to much of my father's side of the family. He brought along two 12-packs of Squirt, an exquisite lemon-lime soda that isn't sold around here. When night fell, Chris, my father, Stevie (a small, feisty, Puerto Rican guy with his one good eye running at 50%) and I built a campfire and sat around it telling stories. Most of these revolved around getting seriously blitzed and then acting like idiots, but they were all entertaining. After everyone went to bed, I watched Anamorph, a Willem DaFoe/Peter Stormare flick that I picked up for $2. As a horror movie, it wasn't particularly frightening, though appropriately suspenseful. An interesting watch, but not incredible.
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