I had the most wish-fulfilling dream there could ever be in any person's life. Some of you may not catch on, as I've not been writing ALL--could be wrong about some things, presuming others, and once it's written, it's like a contract and that bothers me.

I'll tell you the dream without explanation, but I will introduce you to one character I haven't seen since high school and it thus made the dream all the more weird.

I was living in a parallel world. Instead of having my peaceful, nicely sized, not-small but not-huge home in Vermont, I had a huge ass home in somewhere like Australia with funny squigglies on the map... (A map came into play).

I'm hanging out at a friend's house with more of his friends. (Tangent in relation: this is during the 4th and 5th hour of sleep I had had in two days). The friend? Sean. The other friends? You got me. I'm hanging out, watching a movie and say, "I'm going out to a club," not because I like clubs, but because Jeff said he was going to a club and I found this suspicious and felt I should have a chit-chat.

I get to the club and pass various odd conversations, one of which focuses on a woman referred to as the "crack fiend retard." Apparently, she's also a slut and does it because she can, not knowing the people or the action or anything else, for that matter.

As I'm roaming through this club, I bump into a group of people I knew only in high school. One girl I have thought about often. She taught me to crochet, she was a fantastic runner, she had a body to die for, she was incredibly shy, and though we didn't share secrets I can only take to the grave, she was a friend I appreciated. Her hair was red in high school and in the club, it was blonde. I said, "Hey! Brande Leo!" She moves me over to a seat on the side and we start talking. I tell her about looking for Jeff. Her cell phone rings. It's a man she doesn't know whom she saw go home with her roommate. I call Jeff's cell phone.

I ask him where he is. He says he's over at such and such (gives an address). I say, "Ah! I'll come over then." He tells me it wouldn't be a good idea. I ask why not.

Long pause.

"Because I just fingered a crack fiend retard."

I hang up and decide to visit said address, which Brande says is her home and I should be careful; crack fiend retard is blank, but her friends are fierce protectors. Before going over, I stop at my mother's and find she has bags and bags of frozen meat, family sized boxes of soaps, dish detergents, etc. There's a knock on the door. Nobody answers it, but everybody assumes it's somebody we should run from. So I decide to continue on my journey for a confrontation; passing more conversation-ers.

When I arrive, I find that Jeff is indeed with her (details fuzzy). We fast forward to me with Brande, hiding out. The chicks are after me. They want to kick my ass. They jump me, take off all my clothes. I grab my notebook and keys and run like hell down a shit load of stairs (apparently, the address was atop a skyscraper in which was the club). At the bottom of the stairs, I run over to the welcome booth. There are about five security types. They are all watching the multitudes of people who are jumping off the top of the casino-like skyscraper, killing themselves. I see the line of people on top, as if waiting in line for a ride. After one jumps, a security guy walks over to the bloody body with a sheet and talks into his walkie-talkie. I ask, "Does this happen all the time?" and he says, "Yep." I ask, "What do you do about it?" and he looks at me, blank faced, and says, "We do our job," which I assumed meant clean up.

A ranger type walks over and speaks with this security type about a map. He has to go to a place called Dover. That's where Ellen, my mother, lives. I have to get there too. Only I don't know the address in Dover and when I get a taxi, how will I tell them?

Meanwhile, I'm naked, see. I don't have my keys, for some reason. I have no money to take a taxi. I ask one of the security men to go up the stairs to fetch my clothes and keys. He comes back with only my keys, saying he found nothing else. I decide this is fine.

I must have decided to call Sean because, fast forward, I'm sitting on the couch again, just as before, only this time Sean's hand is on my thigh and I'm falling asleep.

True story.