I woke up thismorning, 36 minutes ago, TEN A.M. for crying out loud, feeling like I was hit by a mack truck. I just feel awful. Not nauseaus, not dizzy, just like I was hit by a truck.

And I had bizarre dreams last night.

The first one I was living in Marge Simpson's hair except it was made of jello and it was in The Jetson's apartment in outer space.

The second one I was with my dream-family (you know, they're never the same as your real family) and my dad was an opera singer in the men's washroom of a Japanese-owned, Caucasian deli in Boston. Even though HE was the singer, Chicken and Ling Ling were the entertainment. WTF?

The third one, me and my dream-boyfriend and an older lady were waiting for the bus on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I had to pee so we broke into my old boyfriend's apartment and the lady made us a delicious lunch while a bunch of Twitter birds ran around. I finally got to use the bathroom but it was a potty.

And that's when I woke up.

Feeling like I was hit by a truck.

Later,
s.