I'll tell you what sucks – being anal about certain things (and by “certain,” I probably mean a “lot”). What sucks even worse is that even in dreams, I can't escape those anal tendencies. Dreams are supposed to be where you live in a freaky world, not where your idiosyncrasies haunt you and make you feel bad when you wake up.
So Mom (capitalized because if I substituted her real name, it would be capitalized), I'm sorry if I woke up angry at you this morning.
Why was I mad? Simple... she washed my half-black, half-white sweatpants in hot water with bleach. What in the hell was she thinking? Cold water, no bleach, just like the tag on the pants say and then I wouldn't be forced to NOT talk to her until she went and bought me a new pair. I can't play soccer in half-kinda-blue, half-white sweatpants, can I? Wait, can I play soccer in sweatpants, period? That's not the point.
Damnit Mom, I almost smoked marijuana in my dream just to defy you even more.
I really need to chill out.
Don't worry about it though, it was just a dream. And I still love you, Mom. But I'm going to need those new sweatpants soon.
+ original post date: August 1, 2005 07:45 AM
+ categories: Dreams