I actually opened two days in a row -- the home so late and lack of sleep was my own choice. I thought I could deal with the consequences, but today I'm regretting it. It will be fine by tomorrow, though. I'm up for a "reverse nap" -- came home from work to sleep, and now up to eat dinner and post before sleeping again. My body hates me right now.

That dialogue I wrote is pretty much a true story. Heard it from a friend last night, but decided to try to use it as a dialogue exercise.

Bob, the contents of the suitcase that you choose to highlight, the order they come in, they set a nice "icky" tone that suits the piece. And Barbara, I get that anxiety, and how it's weird how some things can gain anxiety rather than lose it over time. So, I have no idea how I'm going to respond to the suitcase prompt, but why not go for another trifecta? Here goes

The twins packed each night before bed. For this shared belief, they had no need of leaps -- dream suitcases, they knew, would one day save them. In Jessup's tonight he packed a pair of high tops, a water pistol, a copy of Catwings and My Father's Dragon, a blue cloth leash. In Faith's: a bag of gumballs (minus the yellow ones), a purple tutu, a pack of cinnamon flavored dental floss, a roll of scotch tape. Before bed the twins each pawed through the other's suitcase, making a mental list of the items. Then they zipped and put the cases under the bunk beds.

"Goodnight, Faith." Jessup said. " Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite."

Faith pulled the covers up to her chin. "If they do, hit 'em with a shoe," she said.

"If that doesn't work, hit 'em with a Shop-ex clerk."

Both twins closed their eyes and went through their own versions of counting sheep. Tonight, for Faith: One red gumball, one blue, one green. Two red gumballs, two blue, two green. And for Jessup: One winged cat, one dragon, one fine-toothed comb. Prepared, the twins drifted off to sleep.