I don't think I'm ever going to write about my job. Sorry.

I really was going to this week, and then I got sick. It was weird, too. Friday afternoon last week I finally sat down at my desk at 5:30, and it hit me that I was really tired and dizzy. That night I slept well, but Saturday night not so good (confounded Nate and his blasted parties!) Sunday was a quiet lazy day, but I figured it was because of the cloudy weather and that whole time-change thing.

But Monday morning I wasn't well at all. I don't know how to describe it - Ditzy Blonde Syndrome. Reverse Algernon Disease. Anti-ADD. Whatever it was, I went home from work at 3 pm and fell right asleep for four hours. I woke up, watched some TV, and then still got a full nine hours of sleep that night, thanks to my friends at Vicks. Love that NyQuil.

Yesterday I was feeling a little better, I got through my day at work fine, but at 10:30 pm I was done. I crashed to bed. Hard.

It was a night full of crazy dreams. Weird fever dreams with pink elephants and heffalumps and shit. Not actually, of course, but you get the premise. Since I crashed so early, at 6 am I woke up. I was in the middle of the weirdest dream. It was brilliant, I thought, this idea I had. In my dream I was watching a movie, I knew it wasn't real. It was a hyper-directed / Ridley Scott / Michael Bay / Guy Ricchie kind of deal, colors and close-ups and slow motion and in-your-face action. The dream had some kind of point, I know, but I lost it when I woke up. All I remember is one solitary segment, narrated by the main character.

Somehow our character had done something illegal or immoral. Something wrong, I don't exactly remember. It might have involved cheating a woman or beating up a child, I honestly have no idea. All I know is that the action freezes on his face, and then we smash cut to this bright yellow Lamborghini going one-hundred miles per hour getting the hell out of Dodge. It was pretty funny.

But wait, there's more. Suddenly this gray and somewhat boring Corvette going two hundred miles per hour blasts by the Lamborghini, causing it to flip off the road into trees. Then the narrator comes on and says something derrogatory about Lamborghinis and the euro-trash that drive them.

At the time it it was so very clever. The whole thing was. I still wish I remembered more.

In fact, when I woke up at 6 am to go to the bathroom, I knew that I was going to forget this whole thing, and it was just TOO good to forget. So I found a post-it note and wrote two little phrases that I knew would instantly jog my memory. I peed, stumbled back to bed and had another crazy dream.

You know how lots of people get children's books for high school or college graduations? Dr. Suess or whathaveyou? Well, what if you wrote a cute children's book with life lessons learned while in college? Keep in mind, I was fairly out-of-my-mind when I thought this. Like, one little snippet would be this guy gets home every weekend and throws his change on his dresser. But his crappy apartment isn't really level, so all of the change rolls off behind the dresser. He's aware of this, sure, but it'd be too much of a pain to move the whole thing for a few cents.

Cut to: the end of the year. He's moving out, boxes packed. The dresser is light now, so he moves it. We see a whole pile of change. It has to be a good forty dollars worth. And thus our hero (and reader) learns a lesson in saving little bits of money over a long period of time.

The dream was filled with all sorts of ideas like this. Of course I remember all of them.

This morning I woke up late and rushed to get ready for work. I didn't have time to look at the post-it.

All day long I was wondering what was so brilliant in the dream - the first dream - all I remember is that Lamborghini thing, which is funny, sure, but not brilliant. At the end of the day I raced home, ran into my room and found the blue post-it. Two sloppy scrawlings.

"Look into his eyes."

"You. We. Us. Everyone."

Does that make any sense to anyone, 'cause it sure ain't helping me. Maybe I need another slug of NyQuil ...

- Josh Edwards