The Fredösphere

My Flonase prescription has run out (aaah, sweet, sweet Flonase) so this morning I awoke with my nose stuffed up and my open mouth pastey-dry.  My sleep was sufficiently disrupted for me to remember my dream.  Which is basically the equivalent of saying that the rock that normally hides all the pale, blind, squrimy disgusting things that inhabit my subconsious got turned over.

In my dream, some gangsters threatened to kill me and my family if I didn't help them with an assassination.  So I found myself running around a maze of rooms inside some San Francisco row houses with a syringe filled with poison.  I thought, yikes, all these people here have seen me with the syringe, so they'll know I was involved in the plot.  Then it hit me:  the mafia guys will kill me when it's all over anyway.

At that point I woke up.  I tore out of the house on my morning run, furious at those creeps, and managed to sprain my back.   Memo to self:  it is a waste of time to hate people who don't exist.

At least my dreaming isn't half as twisted as Belle's.  I like to keep my dreams nicely non-lucid, thanks very much.