We got home late last night from having a minor dinner party with some friends.
The dinner party surprised me. It turns out that in addition to being a terrific actress, natural marketer, and one of my favorite dance partners, our friend Gina-O (i.e., not BFF Gina, but a different, second Gina with a nearly identical last name) is an amazing gourmet cook and furniture refinisher.
How did I not know this about her after knowing her for nearly five years? This is someone I absolutely gravitate to whenever we’re out with a group of people, and I am just learning these major facts about her.
Another thing to chalk up to my self-centeredness? Or is it entirely possible that other seeming extroverts don’t wear their entire lives on their sleeves.
(I only do it on my blog.)
I do not do late on weeknights anymore, unless it is for a show and I have the motivating energy of rock to keep me propped upright. I was so unbelievably tired that I think I may have intentionally driven over the speed limit for the first time on my way home in an effort to get into our bed that much more quickly.
E woke up crying in the middle of the night, which made me wake up and hug her in response. She was quite inconsolable, but said it was just a bad dream, and we were both super-exhausted, so we fell right back to sleep.
As I was fishing through my sock drawer this morning, I looked back over my shoulder at her as she stretched across the bed like a cat.
“So, the crying. What was that about?” I asked her.
“I told you, it was a bad dream,” she replied.
“Like, a depressing dream?”
“It was kind of an post-apocalyptic scenario. With two different kinds of undead battling for supremacy. Like 12 Monkeys meets Walking Dead. And I was the leader of the one tribe!”
“That actually sounds like an awesome dream.”
“Then I died at the end. Well, actually, I was dead already, so I regained my humanity. But it was still tragic.”
“Did you win?”
“Unclear. It was more of a set-up for a sequel.”
Crying in her sleep about leading her tribe of undead to an uncertain truce only to become a martyr … until the sequel to her dream is optioned for production, anyway.
My wife, ladies and gentleman.