flemmings | (no subject)

So after yawning my way through yesterday, last night I couldn't get to sleep. No reason, just I was awake. And stayed awake. And got up after an hour and went and read Dick Francis one-eyed until a quarter to four, which is cut-off for no headache sleeping. Rewarmed the beanbags and got into the wool and feathers and eventually drifted off, to dream of sorting out my various treasures in what purported to be my bedroom at Bedford, only it was twice the size of that not-unsizabe chamber and also thought it was somehow part of that Dick Francis novel.

I woke, as expected, at 10. I can't count on 4 a.m. bedtimes resulting in only 6 hours of condensed sleep or I'd do it more often, but at least I wasn't a basket case. Didn't accomplish anything today, of course, except dishes. And finishing Dead Cert. Francis is wonderful comfort reading if not indulged in too often. Helps if it's one of the ones I don’t remember and this was, in spite of that annoying mystery topos of love at first sight and will you marry me after two? three? meetings.

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We've listened to a couple of Dick Francis novels from the library recently. They're reliably positive, despite the trials and tribulations that the viewpoint character has to endure.

Francis liked to torture his protags, generally within reason. It's all about the very ordinary guy going to extraordinary lengths to fight the bad guys.