sweet dreams

And the recipe for bizarre dreams is this–drink wine. Talk to someone you haven’t spoken with in years. Go to sleep. Your end result will be as follows:

Dream you are back in high school. You are unable to concentrate or do what the teacher wants you to do because you are too busy thinking “I have a freaking degree already, why can’t I test out of whatever I am here for.” Refuse to do what was asked of you. Realize you don’t have your schedule, so you have no idea what class you ought to be going to next. Go to the office, get a locker assigned to you. Go looking for locker. All of the lockers are oversized and built for basketball players. You can’t get into any of them. When you finally find your locker, it is hanging next to a traffic light. Go back to the office to get a new locker assigned. (I wonder if that pops up as a result of my experience getting a PO Box for the business.) Back in class, your BFF walks in wearing electric neon orange. The teacher makes fun of her from the front of the class. You struggle to think up what you can do to help her. She comes back wearing several different outfits. Teacher asks her to tell him who she is. She gives name. He means “who are you” in the warm fuzzy sense. She refuses to answer, so he makes her a schedule of engineering and math courses. I don’t have the balls to tell him to go to hell and leave her alone.

And there, in one night of wine-assisted dreaming, you have my entire high school experience, all over again. Perhaps not on that 10 year reunion. A ten year DLMA reunion I’m all about. But I think I’ll go back to pretending high school never happened.

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sweet dreams

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