It snowed last night.

I wasn't expecting it, you see. Matt and I went over to K.T. and Kevin's for the Tuesday game, and we had chili (a little on the spicy side for my absurdly oversensitive taste buds, but nothing a healthy dollop of sour cream couldn't remedy) and devilled eggs and a very fun (and lucrative) game, and the only reason we left when we did was that I could feel the Sleepies creeping up on me, and I like to be home when they hit.

(The good news is that I think I'm finally starting to get over that early-pregnancy exhaustion thing. I'm still sort of low-grade tired all the time, but it's not that crushing exhaustion that was making me want to curl up in the corner of the couch and nap in the middle of combat.)

Anyway, Matt and I packed up our leftover stuff and said our goodbyes, shoved Boo away from the door, and left.

I opened the door that led from the apartment stairwell out into the night, and something fell on my head. I brushed it away and looked up, and... "It's snowing," I said to Matt.

"So it is," he replied, and ducked back inside to inform the Hickseses.

When we got back to Williamsburg, the snow was just beginning to stick to the road. "Well," I said as I climbed into bed, "it'll be an adventure to see what the morning brings."

The first thing I heard, when the cat stepped on the radio's ON button at 5:45 this morning, was a traffic report talking about the dozens of accidents all over the roadways. I groaned, turned the radio off, and took the cat down to the bathroom. On my way back to bed, I peeked out the window.

An inch or so of snow blanketed the ground - just enough to make everything soft and pretty - but the street looked relatively clear.

I shrugged, assumed a larger-than-usual portion of idiots driving around this morning, and went back to bed.

The truth was revealed when Matt and I had finally levered ourselves out of bed, showered, dressed, and headed for our own cars: Our driveway and the road were coated with a thin sheen of ice. Insufficiently cautious people would be spinning out all over.

So I drove in to work at a sedate forty miles an hour, and gave all the other cars a wide berth. And I'm parked on a lovely, smooth patch of perfect black ice, so I'm hoping that it warms up enough that my tires will touch the ground.

Someone tell me why I spent almost an hour dreaming about trying to trim to perfection a fingernail with a hole punched in the middle.

And then you can tell me why I dreamed that a friend of mine gave me a baby gift from his mother - a woman I haven't spoken to for over five years - and I kept forgetting to open it.

I don't mind this recent spate of more vivid dreaming, but I'd kind of like the dreams to be a little less... mundane.

--Liz