There is a particular person, with whom I have not spoken in quite some time, who has been plaguing my dreams for the past few weeks. (And plaguing is the appropriate word.) I hate when my brain does this to me. I give the firm order not to think about it, but it just waits until I go to sleep and disobeys anyway. To call or not to call, that is the question. The answer is not, because I know how it would go, and it would not be to my satisfaction. Not nearly. It would just be much easier to stop asking the question if he would stay out of my dreams. Seriously, it’s kind of rude.

Also, I’ve lost a notebook. A particular notebook that I wouldn’t be too fond of anyone else getting ahold of. Bah!

As I got off the bus coming from the parking lot to my building, I heard this from the first random person I passed on campus. ”Well…Friday night I’m having sex. And Saturday I’m getting plastered!” Oooh, it’s good to be home. Where is an eye-rolling emoticon when you need one.

 I will be happy to get back to the school, though. A day is like an eternity with those kids, and I certainly don’t want to start back at square one with them. We’ll see how it goes on Wednesday.

Also, I dreamt last night that I organized my desk. I didn’t remember this until I walked into my room tonight and became very disappointed that my desk was not as orderly as I was expecting. This is noteworthy as it is only the second time in my life I’ve dreamt something and later thought it to be true. The first time was a few years ago when I dreamt I found ten dollars in my pocket and then went to use it to pay for something later.

No, scratch that. Third time. I used to think I could float when I was a kid. I don’t remember dreaming it, really, but I can only assume that I did. I have very vivid memories of floating near the ceiling of my grandparents’ house. Not flying, really, just kind of…hovering there. I remember thinking that I could do this, just as though it were normal, like a fact. I could float. The way to do it was to let your body go limp, hang your head, and slowly push your arms out to your sides. I remember reasoning that it must have something to do with static electricity, just like you could get a balloon to stick to the ceiling if you rubbed it on the carpet or your hair for long enough. It’s strange, though, I can still remember the feeling of weightlessness. Then one day I realized it was impossible and that it must have been a dream. That was a sad day, indeed.