I often have dreams about Robin Williams. The last one involved the escape of a frog/iguana/really nasty slimy creature that was somehow trying to wipe out the human race. Many of my friends were there. And Robin Williams. I woke up before the outcome was determined.

I don’t know why I dream about Robin Williams. I don’t know why I dream about a lot of things.

The other night I dreamt that James had a son. I had always known this, but I did not know the mother. Then I realized that there was no possible way that he could have had a son, and as it happened, the boy wasn’t even related to James at all. The freaky part was that the kid looked just like this:

(Now, I read the New York Times article about the parents who blog about their kids–how the kids will probably grow up to resent this–but I’ll probably get it just as much from my fiance if he finds out I posted this picture here. Oh well. Ain’t he cute!)

I have no idea if anything in this entry is related to anything else or how, but I enjoy documenting my dreaming just for the hell of it. I’m sure there are stranger ones to come. The strangest are probably the ones I don’t remember


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