Still haunted by the '86 Mets
Don't you hate it when you have one of those dreams where you're at a party and your wife flirts nonstop with someone who may or may not be Keith Hernandez - even sitting a little too comfortably on his lap for long periods of time - before you finally leave the party in separate cars, and you're standing outside of yours just stewing and bitter and unable to give voice to just how angry and uncomfortable you feel, and then your wife starts to drive past you and you suddenly rocket your keys off her windshield, and they explode out into a dozen different directions, and she slams on the brakes and steps out of her car and just looks at you incredulous, and all you can do is hang your head, swallow your anger and say, "I'm sorry"... and then you wake up, and the dream kind of ruins your entire next day?
(...)
Uh... yeah... uh... neither do I.


Last night I had the dream where everyone was trying to flush sippy cups down the toilet. (It's so much better when I don't remember my dreams....)
Posted by: Karen | November 24, 2007 at 11:19 AM
I hate that. I have dreams sometimes that Adam cheats - CHEATS! - and I usually spend the entire next day waffling between anguished heartbreak and raw fury. All taken out directly on him, of course, because he should have KNOWN better, Jesus.
Posted by: jonniker | November 24, 2007 at 10:06 PM
You're really not well - not well at all.
Posted by: mr. big dubya | November 26, 2007 at 08:58 AM