Walk around with a broken leg and a $100 bill
I had such vivid dreams again last night. I'm noticing a definite pattern here: if I actually go to bed sober, and around midnight, (and am not awakened by 1:30 phone calls) I can remember my dreams. Last night I dreamt that Andy Boyd, whom I barely know, removed all the items off my desk because he thought I was going to throw them at people. We had bikes! I and other various people. We were going to go ride them! But then it seemed that I didn't have the right sort of pants, so none of us could go, and everyone was upset until Andy Boyd returned all the items to my desk, contingent on my not throwing them at people. Also, all the people in my dream seemed to be mute but me. They didn't speak--I'd ask them questions. "You thought I was going to throw my laptop at you?" and they'd nod and such.
The creative writing teacher of whom I wrote a few entries back emailed me today. "Can I workshop the last piece you turned in?" he asked. "It was great." Now, that's more like it. I wrote it a half hour before class, which according to Murphy's Law means he has to like it jam side down...I mean, that he has to like it better than the essay I actually put thought into.
Ohhhhhhh yes. The Happy Fucking Valentine's Day mix went over well with the burning club. Rock on, rock on.
I got a mixed Dan Fogelberg cd in the mail today. I bet some of you can guess who that was from.
The creative writing teacher of whom I wrote a few entries back emailed me today. "Can I workshop the last piece you turned in?" he asked. "It was great." Now, that's more like it. I wrote it a half hour before class, which according to Murphy's Law means he has to like it jam side down...I mean, that he has to like it better than the essay I actually put thought into.
Ohhhhhhh yes. The Happy Fucking Valentine's Day mix went over well with the burning club. Rock on, rock on.
I got a mixed Dan Fogelberg cd in the mail today. I bet some of you can guess who that was from.