august 20, 2001. Last night I went to bed early, exhausted by a day of lying around & watching Hannibal. The room was hot & sticky, but I knew that I would need a blanket halfway through the night...so I cleverly wadded up all the bedclothes in the middle of the bed and went to sleep. Sure enough, when I woke up cold, I managed to sleepily extract a thin edge of sheet to cover myself. I fell asleep again. The next time I awoke, it was to the sensation of someone tugging away my tiny portion of sheet. "Mmmph...fuck off!" I spat angrily, grabbing back the sheet. After a few seconds, I realized what I had just said to my beloved. "Hon," I murmured, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I was arguing with you in my dream. See, I had given you an instruction manual - a course overview, really - that explained me when we started dating. And you had just put a boiling pot of hot coffee against my nipple because you thought it was funny. I was yelling at you for not remembering my instructions, and you told me that you never read the syllabus. Then I got really mad, and told you that you were exactly the kind of student that I hated. And then I woke up." He snored. I thought about waking him up again and repeating the whole rigamarole, but it seemed like such a hassle. Instead I went back to sleep & dreamed that Q was using his webpage to tell me to retrieve his Billy Joel LP from the park bandstand, while bemoaning the fact that he & Pixie would never be happy anywhere but Toronto. Sometimes my subconscious is a lot more interesting than my conscious. Or my semi-conscious, as the case may be. this time last year: ahh, the wedding.