This past weekend I went to New York for a concert on Friday night and a trip to MoMA on Saturday.

Fun times! Excitement! Great food! Awesome music! Inspiring artwork!

My sleep was a bit messed up over the past few days, and I woke up to only my cell phone alarm clock on Saturday at 9.30am to get ready for brunch before hitting the museum. My friend Jon let me sleep in his guest room, which is awesome, as it houses, in addition to a Street Fighter 2 arcade machine and a sofa bed, his file server. The closets made a lovely white noise similar to my own machine. I was in heaven!

However, I haven’t been able to publish my slog, as I had no access to the internet, let alone wordpress. So there’s a back-slog, so to speak. That should be corrected tomorrow… or later today?

(Wwords like “today” and “tomorrow” always throw me off, since I never seen to fall asleep before midnight. Is it only tomorrow after I sleep and wake up again? Bah.)

I don’t often remember my dreams, but when I do they are realistically vivid. I’ve also recently noticed that I tend to remember my dreams when I’ve had more sleep.

Last night I was tired earlier than usual, and got into bed around 11.30pm. Within half-hour I was out like a light! Amazing. (Every time I fall asleep earlier than midnight, I’m a bit too hopeful that I’ll be able to wake up on time. I’m always disappointed.) My dreams then were fairly scary. Not scary in a monster-attack way, but in a real-life way.

I dreamt I was driving alone in my car to some destination. Later, I meet my parents and sleep at their house. The next morning they take me out to breakfast, and I notice bruises on my arms, some bright and some faded. My parents try to change the subject.

I’m insistent, wondering where these bruises came from, and if I have any more. Eventually my parents tell me I fell asleep while driving my car the week earlier and I’ve been passed out at their house ever since. When I fell asleep, the car slammed into a tree, not only ruining the car and bruising me, but killing a small child attempting to build a fort in its branches.

Somehow my parents were able to get me away from hospitals and police, and now we were going into hiding. I freak out and demand to go back and explain to the police and the child’s family, and own up to what I’d done. My mother slides a glass of orange juice my way, and I pass out again after drinking it.

I later wake up in the back of their car and start screaming. This is when I woke up, in the real world, to an alarm clock blaring an hour and a half after it originally started.