This morning, I had a dream that an individual I used to be friends with slipped a note to a friend of mine to pass along to me--the note was a once long sought-after explanation and apology for being a complete and total douchebag, scrawled hastily and almost maniacally in garish-colored marker on scraggly pieces of notebook paper. I sat there quietly, trying to decipher the letter and the explanations, excuses, and apologies housed within it. Then Zooey clambered up onto my pillow and woke me up. It was strange because, while I once cared about this person quite a bit, I haven't given them a second thought in months. And yet, I remember feeling, upon being woken up, a very potent sense of loss and disappointment when I realized that these events hadn't actually occurred.

I really and truly hate when your subconscious hasn't caught up with the attitude of your waking self.

Get with it, subconscious, I say. Get motherf-ing with it already. Oh, and while we're at it, more sex dreams about The Strokes and less about Hyde from That 70's Show would be much appreciated as well, dammit.

-------