Bizarro Dreams

I'm not a dreamer. I mean, I day dream about dinners at the French Laundry and owning a house on a Venetian canal, but that's generally the extent. They say that everyone dreams, but sometimes we don't remember our dreams. I don't know if that's true, but I do know that back in high school when we were supposed to be keeping nightly dream journals, M & I made up everything in ours because we didn't think our teacher would believe us that we simply hadn't dreamt anything.

The last few weeks, though, the dreams have been almost nightly. Most of them are more or less benign, except that for some reason I'm really, really angry and then I wake up angry. It's a very strange sensation--my whole body is tense and I'm practically hyperventilating from rage. Fortunately, I'm pretty good at calming myself down and within a minute or two I'm totally fine again. I'm not angry about anything (well, more than usual) in real life, though, so I'm chalking it up to hormones.

My last dream, however, was just...weird. I looked down and noticed a hole in my belly, out of which kept popping B's little foot. I kept poking the foot back in, because it was metal (very Terminator) and I knew B needed more time in utero to develop some flesh. Then I went around to several doctors to try to get someone to stitch up the hole, but nobody would pay attention to me. So I tracked down Noah Wiley, who graciously stitched me up. Clearly this is because Dr. Carter is back on ER. I'm not sure about the metal foot, though--maybe I've been seeing Schwarzenegger too much in the news lately?! Stupid budget impasse.