Well, for whatever reason, I slept today away again. I really don't understand it. I slept fairly well last night & used that infernal machine, but whenever Otis woke me up this morning & I got breakfast in me, I decided a little nap before going to gym was all I needed. And the day is gone.
Can't really remember any specifics about my dream except that I had to come up with ten short stories for some sort of examination & I couldn't think of any. Which I can't now, but that's mainly because I've got a sleep hangover. Anyhow, I prefer short stories to full-length books these days. Short, self-contained little tales that can exist independently or as part of a larger whole (what I call the Wodehouse Technique).
Plus, they lack the need for unnecessarily lengthy philosophical digressions in an attempt to give a good yard "heft" or, even worse, crowbared-in love/sex scenes. Book I read the other day that a was a neat little urban fantasy with an intriguing overall plot & series hook was torpedoed by a useless & fairly graphic sex scene just hammered on after the denouement. What was the point of that?