Ugh.
Statistics exam tomorrow.
Evil.
Very evil.

So, I was saying something about dreaming in the last post.
That was, of course, referring to daydreaming.
In nightdreaming news, I have this to report -
I have overcome a subconscious mental hurdle that has plagued me for quite some time.
I, Kathryn Gooch, have officially been kissed in a dream.
I don't ever remember being kissed in a dream.
I'm 23 years old, people.
If that doesn't clue you in that I've got issues, then nothing will.
*sigh*
Anyways, it was a letdown, let me tell ya.
It wasn't the guy that I wanted it to be.
I had never seen this guy before.
Cree-pay, dahlink.
He wasn't even what I would call remotely attractive.
I won't bore you with more details, but it was nothing to write home about.
Thus why I'm writing on the blog about it.
Heh.
Aren't you privileged.
And actually, all my dreams about men (okay, make that one particular man) usually take place at my church, in a theatre, or in a concentration camp.
Figure that out.

I also had a dream about a baby.
Watch out, folks.
Kissing and babies all in one night.
It's the in-between part that I seem to be missing.
I'm not sure if that's a very bad thing or a very good thing.

My one person fan club did end up talking to my boss.
Yay.

There is one important thing missing from the previous rambling about my estate.
THE sound.
MY sound.
What is THE MY sound, you ask?
It's the sound that brings to mind white poofy shirts, empire waist gowns, finger bowls, balls and Roger Hamley's wasps nest.
The sound of that white gravel stuff.
*sigh*
That's My sound.

Yick.
Stat exam in mere hours.
*metaphorically gags*

Oh, and just for the record...
That whole business of was there really a Shakespeare and did someone else write all those plays, etc.,...
I don't give a rat's retina if there was or wasn't or if some peasant from Hicksville wrote them.
Can't we just be glad that we have them in the first place?
Sheesh.

"Your wife and I didn't get on when we met last. I'm not saying she was very silly, but one of us was very silly, and it wasn't me."
-Elizabeth Gaskell