Yeah, that's right. My little sister wrote about my dream. What the hell? How rude! What was she thinking?

Oh, wait. She wrote about her dream, not mine. But her dream was a lot funnier than mine was. So, now I don't want to tell you about mine, because it would look like I was copying her.

It's so unfair. I had my dream first, but I'm a slacker and didn't write about it right away. No fair! No fair! I'm telling Mom!

Ah, screw it. I'm going to tell you about my dream anyway. I'll just pretend I haven't read her entry yet. Then you all can be amazed by the stunning coincidence that both Ng sisters wrote about their dreams on the same day.

***

So, I had The Waitress Dream the other night. It was horrible. Kristina's had somehow gotten exponentially larger, so there were literally hundreds of crabby people glaring at me because I hadn't gotten to them yet. Linda was nowhere to be seen, and Sara refused to take any more tables than the five that were her normal section.

Hi I'm Ana I'll be right with you hey how's it goin I'll be right back hi sorry to keep you waiting hi i'll be with you as soon as i can hi sorry hi sorry sorry hi sorry hi sorry hi hi hi sorry.

I woke up all panicky and scared. My first impulse was to accidentally-on-purpose wake D up and make him hold me till I felt better, as is my right as a girlfriend/lifemate. Then I realized he'd probably laugh at me.

"Aw, you had a bad dream? Poor Ana. C'mere. Tell me all about it. What?? You woke me up to tell me you dreamt you were a bad waitress?? You call that a nightmare???? Go away. Just go the fuck away."

So I just wrapped myself around his back and held on till I calmed down. And then I was panicky, scared, and I felt like a freak. Why am I letting such a stupid dream get to me like this? Which of course only made it worse.

***

I could share all the overanalytical stuff I came up with (Subject feels she will never actually succeed in life, Subject irrationally feels overwhelming guilt, Subject is completely out of her tiny little mind, etc etc etc.), or I could just send you over to Hwaaah. Read her dream. It has Lister in it. And motorcycle noises.

***

So, I'm feeling all old school today. D. is working 6-2 this week, so I got up with him, drove him to work, got myself some shitty gas station cappuccino, and came home and babbled in my journal for a while. It's exactly what I did almost every day for the first four months I had this thing.

I don't know why exactly that's important. But I'm all fueled on not enough sleep and too much crappy coffee, so all sorts of things seem significant.

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