I could just melt into sleep sometimes. This morning I set my clock for 10 am, grunted when it went off, set it for 10:15, then finally for 10:30 and woke up. The first thing I remembered was my nightmare--ugh. I woke up at 5 am, I think, having to pee, but was too terrified to move and go down the hall to the bathroom, still thinking of my dream. I think I had it because of that infomercial S and I watched last night.

I dreamed about this old, horrid looking dead man who was laying down on a gurney, and the hospital attendant wheeling him was this sinister man who was testing my fright capacity, or something eerie and nightmare-worthy like that. The man said the dead guy was 77 years old and was my dad, and he asked me how I felt about that. I woke shortly after, with those nightmare chills, unable to move around. The informerical we saw was about this facial exercise machine, and they showed a "before" photo of this old man with deep grooves around his mouth.

The second thing I thought about was the dinner I ate last night at The Olive Garden with S and my sister. My sister actually asked to come out with us, which was cute, since putting her and S together is like...uh...I'm trying to think of a pop culture reference here. Well, it's like when Quinn spent the night at Jane's house on a Daria episode. The intellectual, introspective one (S) and the super-social, pop culture princess (my sister).

It was fun, though. We talked about people, as we usually do, particulary the people in our lives who we think are weird. We talked about our freaky friends who couple-swap and spend their nights at swingers' clubs while during the day they're upright, conversative citizens. We talked about lame holiday gifts. Finally, we talked a subject I could talk about for hours-- young, newly-wed mothers with little-to-no income who are housewives. Hah. I turn into the most obnoxious, elitist snob when that subject comes up. My sister says very diplomatic, polite things like, "Well, maybe that's what makes her happy." And I'll reply with, "Well, if that makes her happy, she's pathetic." And S will bust out with, "A mind is a terrible thing to waste." Then my sister argued that it takes intelligence to raise a kid, to which S and I burst out laughing (rather arrogantly, I might add). "You've never seen a dumb mother before?" I said. "Of course a parent is going to care for their young--it's instinctual. Animals do it, too. It doesn't make them intelligent." She finally gave up and tended her to her plate. Arguing with me is futile. Arguing with me and S is torture.