I swear, I�m like a boy-crazy 13-year-old girl. It�s a wonder I ever get any work done at all, ever. But look at him out there, all painting and nice arms and paint flecks in his hair. He�s doing this to me on purpose.

I sleepwalked the other night, for the first time in ages. I have pretty much the grand slam of annoying sleep habits (snoring, talking, walking), but none of them consistently, thank goodness.

When I told Shawn that I climbed out of bed and just strolled my way right into the living room (I woke up on the couch), she was like, �Oh, great. We should make a point to lock the door ever night, then.�

But I�m not that worried about it - I never wake up curled on the kitchen counter or in the trunk of my car or anything. I always end up somewhere comfortable, like sprawled on the futon or curled up on a rug. Sometimes, I walk around and end up right back in my own bed. The only reason I know I walked at all is� well, it�s because I�ll find articles of my clothing I was wearing to bed strewn around my house. Usually, I just find, say, my jammy pants in the kitchen, and undies in the hallway. But sometimes I�ll end up the full monty, with my shirt carefully placed on a lamp or something.

Hey there, cute painter boy. That�s right, roll that paint up the stairwell, baby.

Oops. Sorry.

So, no Donnie Darko stuff, yet. However, I stayed home sick yesterday and napped all morning, with my only task being to drop off some radio equipment at the station around noon. I woke up and went in� and the station had flooded.

Make that, at least I don�t think there�s been any Donnie Darko stuff.

That�s right, Painterboy. Beeeend over and get those bottom bits.

Oh, I give up. I�m just going to stare and drool. Go read something else.