True Stories From My Subconscious Badass

Last night I woke up at 4:15 - Henry was stirring. I tossed and turned for the next few hours before drifting off to a fleeting sleep, wherein I dreamt I was shirtless and covered in tattoos, and sitting, sneering, in the baking heat in the backseat of some random car. In this car, in close quarters, were another random dude and another random woman, also covered in tattoos. We were parked on the patchy yellow lawn of a dilapidated old trailer, huddled and comparing our tattoos. It was like a scene from Spun, or a Rancid video, although I cannot confirm if I was wearing mall punk eyeliner.

In said dream, I had two colourful sleeves of overlapping tattoos - some were unrealistically bright and clear, others were fading and peeling, some were nearly translucent and only visible in certain light, and I think some moved around on my arm, as I expect Harry Potter's tattoos would, if he had tattoos. My artwork included Barney and Betty Rubble, and the Hurley bird from Lost, and fading leopard prints over my shoulders. It was badass.

Then I woke up, in my suburban bedroom, with a cat at my feet and the kids snoring through the monitors. I sneered.

(Thankfully unrelated) PS: Big congrats to Drew and Colleen on the birth of baby Cameron!