Dreams.

First dream. Well, it starts out as one of those fantasy dreams whose details I won’t divulge, but I start crying because all of a sudden I don’t know where I am, and then I start crying harder because I do realize where I am, and that’s not where I started the dream.

Second dream. I’m working my way through a college-level chemistry class. All sorts of Frankenstein details, and there’s no room. I’m crawling on my knees. I recognize the professor as my high school chemistry teacher, who’s the picture of the mad scientist and called, of all things, Mr. Burns (I also had a junior high English teacher called Miss Word, but that’s beside the point). All of a sudden, I have to pee, and there’s a bathroom just to the side of the podium. I go in. I have to hold the door shut. Some woman throws open the door, and there’s a whole room full of people that don’t stare at me, but there you go. Lee’s there. I pull myself together and start terrorizing the woman. I threaten to kill her while Lee laughs cruelly. “What kind of motel are you running, anyway?” he asks.

Third dream. I’m the caretaker of an infant in a weird test experiment. There’s about twenty of the kids paired with caretakers, and for some reason, we love them all passionately, as if they were our own children. The babies are all deformed, but that’s because–they’re developing. The feeling of assurance that we’re involved with a valuable project is overwhelming. I can feel the weight of the baby. One day, while the caretakers are at their meeting, all the babies are removed. We’ll never see them again. I wish, and I wish, and I wish, and the dream changes. The experimenters come to me and tell me that I’m ruining the experiment by changing reality to fit my desires. I tell them I won’t stop, because we all love the babies, and they’re babies, no matter what else they may become.

I woke up.

I didn’t particularly have to pee.