I'm still half asleep. I've got those ugly sleep lines running up and down my arms. I dreamed about doctors chasing me with needles that had been dipped in cherry juice. I dreamed that Nick Cave sang to me at my wedding and that our frogs kept turning into hamsters. I dreamed of a strip club and a lap dancer who had the face of Alan Greenspan. I dreamed I forgot to take my Paxil the day of my wedding and someone pushed me in the pool right before the vows and I stayed underwater, crying. I dreamed that Andrea Harris came to my house to ask if she could borrow some pencils. She was wearing a tube top and the bottom half to a ball gown and claimed that she was sporting Spiderman underoos beneath the gown. My wedding turned into a bat mitzvah and twenty kids danced to a DJ playing Eminem and the doctors came back with the cherry-dripped needles and I ran and ran and ran until I reached the shores of Jones Beach and Ben Affleck was there, and Alan Greenspan was there, and they were both in clown outfits and trying to do this Irish dance. And Robyn and Todd were fighting over who would blog about it first.
And then I woke up and wrote it all down so I wouldn't forget it, though who knows why I would want to remember it at all?
I'm going to make some coffee and shower the remnants of the dream off of me and then we will resume our usual morning blog.