QotD: Who do you tell your secrets to?

Who do you tell your secrets to?

Or, if we're feeling grammatically correct, to whom do I tell my secrets? As much as I love you, dear Internet, not to you. But hey, I don't paint secrets on billboards (which are not nearly so easily searchable as content on the World Wide Web), either.

Luckily, there are lots of things I am happy to share, things that aren't quite secrets, but you still probably didn't know before. For example, last night I dreamed that someone was splashing though a pond turning neon tetras into turtles with a sort of magic crayon. This was after I dreamed that one of my cousins was acting as kind of a seeing eye person and helping a blind girl to ski, but although it was winter at the top of the slope, by the bottom it had become summer in all its muggy, mosquito-ridden glory. Would you believe that waking up puzzled is not entirely unusual for me?

I'm going to blame this set of crazy dreams on the action-packed couple of days M and I have had this week, owing to a visit from our twin nine-year-old nieces. Their Summer Vacation Ultra-Energy coupled with bonus Giggle Factor is as fun as it is exhausting. I'm still trying to process all our adventures: braving the chilly beach, amassing prize tickets at the arcade, playing a lot of Wii, marveling at butterflies at the botanical garden, paper footballing at various and sundry meals, chasing the cats around trying to put paper hats on their heads, chasing M around trying to put a paper hat on his head, peering into a battleship's nooks and crannies, running amok at a science museum...

I'm flat worn out! Somebody asked me at the CAP meeting last night if I was feeling all right (a question which always makes me wonder how much of a mess I look), but he understood immediately upon hearing that we'd just had a whirlwind visit from a set of nine-year-old girls.

It was a blast, though, and I can't wait to see 'em again.