Drive-Bys

Normally when I dream, it's one long lollapalooza of a technicolor doozy, and it lasts almost all night. The past couple of nights, however, I have not been sleeping well. Up every 15 to 30 minutes. Fragmented dreams. Last night, especially.

The topper on the cake? The dream fragment where I'm trying to get ready for work and my mom is there picking up clothes I've laid out to wear and putting them into the washer before I can reach them, grabbing my jewelry box and rearranging it before I can select the earrings I was reaching for -- just generally getting in the way and organizing my stuff as she goes along. (Oddly enough, it looks like a jewelry box my Auntie Francis used to own. I don't have a jewelry box. I just use the little gift boxes the stuff comes in. Hmmm.) Anyway, I'm getting more and more frustrated because I have a train to catch, and it almost seems like Mom's deliberately trying to make me late. I'm standing there in my underwear. Then I woke up.

(You think I have Mom issues, maybe?)
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Zonker has answered Bitterman's five questions. Seems I'm going to get five questions of my own. I don't know whether I should be scared or flattered. Oh, well. It can't be too bad. I mean, the man "jam dances," for cripes sake. (I chair dance when the food in front of me is heavenly, too.)
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I don't know about you, but I needed a little good news for a change. That restores my hope for humanity a bit.
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