Ok, so I don't totally hate the night.

But I'm just strange.

I started thinking about a dream I had about B. It was a really incredibly strange dream:

"I love you," he said in the dream.

"No, you don't," I replied. "You never did."

"No, really I do."

"Look motherfucker, you don't. Stop that. I know you don't mean that."

"What?! No, I do, I'm not lying."

"Do you think I'm stupid? I know you don't. I don't like it when people play games."

"I'm not!"

And it went on in this way for a fair bit. It really was a strange dream, since most of my dreams are usually WTF inducing cryfests, like schizophrenia means that furniture is on the ceiling (!) or that I was dead or that churches are a hotbed of satanism. I suppose it goes with the total bizarreness that is my head.

I'm constantly arguing with myself. It's just one long argument about if I'm crazy or not. Most of the time, I don't think so.

I am so not drinking during the week ever again. Now I remember the disaster it is, and I periodically need to have that reminder.

At least it didn't involve Tiki Drinks and The Meeting From Hell.