Good Whatever Time It Is

Today is the Professor's birthday. She called to see if I was coming out with them. Her phone call woke me from a drugged stupor. I wrestled the big yellow afghan and the dog nestled under my butt and struggled to find the phone. "Hello?" I croaked. "Oh, no." she said. Obviously, I'm not going out. I'm still tired, exhausted, but every time I shut my eyes I have the same vivid dream, that I am pregnant with Bam Margera's child because one of his friends--maybe Rake Jon--has replaced my birth control pills with sugar pills. Because he won't marry me, my friend Dan concocts this plan where he will fly in from San Diego, we will get married and then divorced later that day. The dream is mostly about how stressed out I feel lying to Dan's parents, who think this is a real wedding and are delighted, even though Dan is obviously pissed off at me. I've had this dream now four times. But back to real life: If I had a car, I'd have something spicy to eat. If it were spicy enough, I could taste it. That would be exciting. I may take a shower today. That will also be exciting. I'm not dead, sorry to disappoint those of you who didn't bring me drugs. But I'm not going out tonight, sorry to disappoint the birthday girl who did.