Norman in a Tree

'O sleep! O gentle sleep!

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?'

2 Henry IV (3.1.7-16)

I admit, I didn't get much sleep last night. Years of debating, and living with my mother, mean that I can find a Shakespearean quote for any occasion, but knowing the Bard's words doesn't help when needing to wrestle with one's conscience. A lack of sleep, guilt and embarrassment are not the toppings for muesli. Would not recommend. One star.

I admit it, diary, I shouldn't have encouraged Rita and Norman to help me follow Oliver. Heck, I shouldn't have followed him either. I deserve his disdain, I was .. snoopy. Rita and Norman just got caught up in my quest and I would be devastated if I have broken Oliver's trust in them!

Really, Oliver could have been angrier with us. I think he was just so floored that we had done it. Hmm... Continuing on, here are some nuggets I didn't expect to learn today:

Oliver has been taking dance lessons.

His partner was an 85-year-old named Louise.

Louise has run off with a beau.

Rita was asked to leave her Prom.

Was shame why I felt that he needed saving from Rita's choreographic stylings? (I love her, but she dances with all the rhythm and poise of a washing machine agitator.) That must have been it. Reflux brought about by culpability.

My own poor actions paled in comparison, however, to the verbal dumpster-fire that was Oliver's invitation to dance. Did I say he could have been angrier? I think I have been insulted. No, I am sure I have been insulted. Oliver O'Toole, Lord of Snark. Apparently, Oliver does not want a nice lady, he wants me. Does that mean I am not nice? Or am I not a lady? Am I not either? He followed up this interesting assessment of my character to state that, 'I was not entirely without grace.' No, I'm not sunshine, but someone here sure is! And why would he mis-speak and say he, 'wants me' rather than he wants to dance with me? If I had not been so completely flabbergasted by this whole conversation, I would have punched him, or told him exactly what I thought of what I wanted him to do with his request (and possibly where it should be placed). It would serve him right if I left him to the inherent danger to life, limb and dignity that would be dancing with Rita. (How is it possible that she can be so bad?)

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I refuse to give this whole conversation any more thought. Well, except to say, if he was so rude, why did I say yes?

Moving on.

We (me) found Marie and then we (all) went to deliver the letter. That should have been the end of it, but then Norman in a tree happened. I think that is all I have to say about that, but it does deserve documenting. Oh well, and we also thought Marie looked happy, and we were reluctant to give her such unsettling news, and because the stamp was damaged ... we returned the letter to the sender.

Meeting with Sam, I couldn't help feeling for the guy. He is thoughtful and compassionate enough to want to spare Marie the trouble his letter could cause. Sam called burning his letter closure, I call it abandoning hope. That drive back to Denver was quiet. I think everyone had their own hopes to consider, or reignite, or abandon.