As the Great Apartment Hunt continues, I find myself spending a great deal of time on Google Maps: eyeballing distances to the Blue Line, trying to remember if that street with the surrealist bar was Divison or Damen.
What's been providing the most glee is seeing, in map-inches, the distance by which my commute will be reduced. Hyde Park = 6 1/2", Ukrainian Village = 3".
Something that will be lost, however, is the invariably entertaining morning chat between J.A. and I, when he is just barely awake and I'm slightly more so. For reasons best known to himself, my getting out of bed in the morning is frightening, so he usually calls to see if I'm okay when I close the bedroom door.
This morning, on the other hand, featured this exchange:
Me : (Returning from shower)
J.A. : Oh, are you okay?
Me : Yes, why?
J.A. : Did I wake you up?
Me : When?
J.A. : Last night. I thought I was kicking you.
Me : No, I didn't wake up. (Pause) But I did dream of the Ukraine
He went back to sleep, and it was then that I remembered a rather involved dream of kidnapping and organized crime syndicates. Connected? Maybe.
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