So, I suggested to Craig that he may want to perhaps, oh, I don’t know, consolidate a few of the boxes inside his apartment, and, uh, surprisingly, it didn’t go over too well. As we like to say in our family, like father, like son. Craig’s hoarding habits are reminiscent of our dear father, who keeps heaps and heaps of unmarked black glad bags, filled to the brim with random papers circa the 1970s. Who knows? Maybe that one paper from August 16, 1976 will actually come in handy. For Craig, maybe having boxes of legal files laying about gives him the hope of learning through osmosis…;) (aw Craigery, you know deep down inside I love ya). In any event, it looks like they’re here to stay.
…It’s funny, twice now Craig’s woken up to me closing the bathroom door (it’s not like I’m slammin the thing…sheesh). I can hear this faint ‘whaaat’ and then rustling around like he’s getting up. What, what..who goes there? He’ll also talk in his sleep. (I sleep in on an inflatable bed in his room, just in the likely event he gets sick and needs a bucket, a cold rag, and some support.) The last one was about people not being aware of something (I think his cancer). Unlike the mumbled mess that usually comes out of a Lawler, Craig sleep-talks in complete sentences, and sometimes, in full paragraphs. When he was in the hospital, he’d sleep-talk his diagnosis and treatment plan with amazing accuracy. He seems to dream about his cancer quite often, which is interesting (aw, the sufficiently vague ‘interesting’). I hope he’ll start feeling better so he can get back to dreaming about people living in the cracks of sidewalks, or monkeys on tricycles…those sorts of things. -- J
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