Kurt Cobain is dead, and I don't feel so good myself.

It was a strange weekend, capping an intermittently crappy week. Insomnia and oversleeping (sounds incompatible, I know, but they're not) and ennui and generally feeling out-of-sorts. B. and I were planning to see a movie, and a band, but we bailed on both of those and just went to the Borders at Time Warner Center for a couple hours, then headed back home for Chinese takeout and the first twenty minutes of an old movie.

And I still can't shake this feeling. I'm going to make an extra effort to get as much sleep as I can this week (in between increasingly-frantic cleaning; my mother and stepfather are visiting starting Thursday) and see if that helps.

ADDENDUM: Maybe I should just get my very own tunnel-boring machine. (But I think my landlady might object to me digging up the backyard.)