I spent half the night crisscrossing the line between sleep and wakefulness as I was plagued by stupid dreams with stupid plot lines.

Actually, the irritating dream thing started not last night but the night before when I dreamt that I was holding a friend’s baby. It had an abnormally small head covered in dark hair with pinhole eyes and one gargantuan tooth jutting out of its lower jaw. It started nuzzle at my breast, and I said No, little guy, that won’t do, and then he latched on through my shirt anyway and bit my nipple really hard with that abomination of a tooth of his. I spent the rest of that dream annoyed and embarrassed about the wet circle of baby spit on my shirt over my left nipple.

I will give you a short synopsis of last night’s dream’s adventures in a list, because this bitch just goes on and on:
• I visited a friend in another city, and she threw this huge, obnoxious party the first night I was there.
• Her mother built me a remarkable free-standing tower out of potato chips much like a house of cards, and then it collapsed, and I had to spend a bunch of time cleaning the mess of crumbs out of the carpet.
I woke up alone in the morning, looking around at a dingy living room, and I said I feel like I’m in a Harold Pinter play, and no one’s excited to see me. I have no idea what that means. I have never even read any Pinter.
• A man told me that he could help me to makeover my image, and then he proceeded to tell me that although I have young face, my neck looks ten years older.
• Someone put on an outdoor breakfast potluck buffet in honour of my visit, but I hate eating outside, did not know anyone, and was too hung over to enjoy it.
• I went back to my friend’s house to clean up, but the main floor had been cleared of all its contents. I looked out the back door, and some friends had loaded all the furniture, ornaments, and whatnot, including my clothing, into the back of a truck. They were going to take it all away and clean it as a surprise. When I freaked out about my clothing, they laughed at how uptight I was and drove away, but I knew that the expensive items I had brought along would be destroyed. Jerks.

Last night’s dreams completely confounded me until That Girl figured out what was going on. Apparently, each time something annoying or fucked up happened, it was because someone was trying to be nice or helpful to me. That Girl said, It sounds like you really need to hermit yourself away for awhile. No freaking kidding.

I have really enjoyed the things I have gone out of the apartment to do with people lately, but I find every excursion exhausting. The February Crazy is upon me.

What is the February Crazy, you ask? Well, it is a lovely period of time that occurs annually each February. Its symptoms vary but may include any or all of the following:
• Irritability. Did you say something to me? Because that would be wrong. Are you standing anywhere in my vicinity without obvious purpose? Because that would be wrong, too. Have you walked by me a hundred times rather than turning whatever you are doing into one trip? Because that would be very, very wrong. Did you ask me how I am doing? Seething, thank you.
• Strong urges to run away and join the circus. These urges may also be experienced as desires to become a hippie or ride the rails or do a stint in a nunnery. It is best to avoid these urges by crawling under a blanket and drinking an entire bottle of wine.
• Feelings of guilt. In this case, another symptom, irritability, can often be used to overcome the sense that one has fallen terribly short of others’ expectations, as irritability is usually quite strong during the February Crazy.
• Sudden weeping. When irritability cannot overcome feelings of guilt, sudden emotional outbursts are common. Do not be alarmed. Enjoy wine liberally and hide in a warm bath.
• Vivid dreams that are emotionally upsetting. See above.
• Actions contradict emotions. An individual suffering from the February Crazy may make broad statements about the futility of life and the need to hermit and then will be seen out in public yucking it up. In public, treat an individual with the February Crazy with a gentle hand lest they fall to irritability or weeping. They do not know why they are out in the world, either, and are likely to be easily confused.

Tonight, I am choosing a blanket and a bottle of beer to curl up with while I watch hours of “Law & Order” to divert my attention away from the fact that my system is still trying to deal with the loaf of garlic bread I ate on Sunday. Yes, I said LOAF. The February Crazy also has some slightly less common symptoms, such as the overconsumption of underbaked, white flour products slathered in cheap margarine and garlic powder.

(This entry is also posted at Schmutzie’s Milkmoney Or Not, Here I Come)