Come Down Now (But We’ll Stay)

Got home from work at 8:30, called dad, and unpacked some baggage…

From Duane Reade: one bottle (150) daily multivitamins, one bottle (50) generic ibuprofin.

From D’Agastino’s: one (1) Mama Celeste Personal Pizza, one (1) 20 oz. Samuel Adams Ale, 1.5 quart Breyer’s All Natural Vanilla, one (1) bag Happy Herbert Oat Bran Pretzels, 8.3 oz. organic spinach, one (1) avocado, four (4) bananas, one (1) Rolling Stone magazine.

From Netflix: ‘Jesus’ Son’ – “Billy Crudup picked up the Best Actor award at the 2000 Paris Film Festival for his low-key portrayal of Fuckhead, a well-meaning drug addict who stumbles backward into redemption.”

Between the sheets by 10:00, asleep by 10:02.

The result?

I dreampt last night the Conestoga High School Rugby Club had crashed a friend of mine’s party and blown up my bicycle. I avenged by systematically tracking each player down and killing them, but I’d transformed into Matt Damon in ‘The Bourne Identity.’ Once they were all dispatched, my party-hosting friend was relieved, but obviously concerned as I had left a trail of blood all over suburban Philadelphia. Somehow, it’s all just a TV show, and there’s this cast reunion and we’re all posing and waving, except the entire cast was a bunch of elderly and vertically challenged actors. So we’re taking an elevator down from the studio, and I note a bit of blood on the numbers which I wipe away with spit and a bandana.

What, was it the ice cream?

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