I had a weird dream last night--I dreamt I was acting in a site-specific version of "Sweeney Todd" that they were also filming, playing both Sweeney and Pirelli. But then I started asking "wait a minute, if they've already built the costume for Sasha Baron Cohen, then it's not going to fit me..." and waking up. Good dream though, lots of singing and brooding.
I got to Lane Bryant late last night, owing to the fact I was carrying about five pounds of leftovers from a luncheon meeting. Then I managed to tear off a bit of skin on the pad of my first finger on my left hand, leaving a fresh patch of raw nerves exposed right where the whorl used to be. It bled for about two hours, and it hurts to type. In other news, Curex 24-Hour fabric bandages are my new favourite brand. They stay put AND are waterproof.
On the way home I listened to 1776, just to make sure "The Lees of Old Virginia" is good and stuck in my head. It was bloody freezing, so I had my hood up, head tucked down, arms wrapped around my body. As I was crossing the street, I slowed to make sure a car would stop for me--and he didn't, causing me to shake my fist at the inconsiderate driver, speeding past a poor freezing temp in his lovely warm car--to my surprise he waved back and even blew me a kiss. I was even madder at the presumption of this (again, nice and warm) driver, when I thought I recognised an actor from the show. I couldn't be sure, since the windshield was dirty (also, no lovely red wig or breeches) but wouldn't that just be funny:
"I got hit by Thomas Jefferson!"
"While listening to 'He Plays the Violin!'"