and then our exile

My mother says we had a conversation last night at 10.45. And I remember nothing of it. Nothing. The last thing I remember is that I was reading "The Great Game" [essay in Pilger]. I put the book on the chessboard on top of Fences&Windows, and my glasses too. And then I stretched out on the sofa with my feet in the air and very comfortably looked at the ceiling. And the next thing I know it is two in the morning and I wake up to turn off the reading-lamp, wonder vaguely who turned off the ceiling-light and get into bed.
So where does the conversation fit in?
Supposedly I had my eyes open and responded to all she said.
Very, very strange.

I now am home to a pair of very tired eyes, awake since 4.30. But: news: a great hallowe'en: LAST NIGHT JUST AFTER MAGHRIB SOMEONE CALLED JIM EMBRACED ISLAM! i finally cornered Tim-Isa, and found out that there is nothing happening with CEPPal/HumanServe Int'l on the 9th. But he was showing Jim around--between 39 and 42, I'd say Jim is, and he made my night.
Abu Hammam's Bolshevik hat is more Bolsheviky than mine. But mine is pretty cool too. And Zachariya is direct from then.

Ammi-mine wishes me to go to the University of London's School of Oriental and African Studies--SOAS--to take courses in Islamic art. I have just spent a good twenty minutes at their site, exploring, and can say that that would be beautiful. Except I'd want to take all their courses [history, history of art, exploration of culture, linguistics, global politics, development, art&archeology, study of religions] and so would end up being there for twenty years. ^_^ Still. A relatively stringent School, i think--the U of A looks positively relaxed in comparison. But, seriously: they say they don't have any scholarships for undergraduate-peoples, so I'll probably end up going to the UofA for the first while, but for postgraduate--it is a distinct, very distinct, possibility.