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       I lay for maybe fifteen minutes with my eyes open        and staring dreamily at the higher
mattress of my bunk bed as a vividly illustrative answer to the question:        why the land c is
sometimes called Ceilingia.   Full of images and feelings: I was still flying between the trees in
the emerald green jungle - using the vines to jump from one tree to another:      letting the wind
slide over my long suple body. I could not in any way force myself to get up. 
       But the children had been asleep for nearly two hours:  and at any moment one of them might
wake up - it was now necessary to interrupt a short extramaternity leave: which I had after a long
time indulged in as a reward for continuous nursing services   - and to begin to prepare afternoon
snack. So with a loud sigh: I stood up and start to pack the lamp back into the box. 
       I was thinking:  if I happened to find time in the next six months:  I would redream one of
my old stories: which I have saved on my lobby - maybe the one in which I finally proved to my ex-
wife: that I am not a dick: but a mighty magician: who can touch wild crows   - or perhaps the one
in which I galloped away on a caramel horse's back from my father's destructive embrace.
       Of course everything was perfectly timed from above:    because I was just picking out warm
bottles of milk from the processor: when a thin cry of one of the girls was heard    - probably it
was Ema: who usually woke up first and immediately made sure:       that she was not alone outside
the dreamland. But actually: I don't have obvious evidence of this:   because every time I entered
the children's room: all six pairs of naughty eyes were staring at me.