9 March 2005 (yesterday) (tomorrow)
I dreamt there was a large restaurant that turned into an amphitheatre where I was informed by looking over people's shoulders at handwritten notes and by a very cautiously-worded meeting with a mysterious female superior that I was one of several employees of the series It Takes A Thief whose hours had been cut due to incompetence. You Just Spent Too Much Money, Didn't You, I declared accusingly. The woman squirmed. Next to me, the young chef-in-training for It Takes A Thief pounded the table with his fist and began to cry. I wandered outside and sat under a palm tree, where I called you, and of course you materialized as soon as you answered the phone. How Have You Been, I wondered. Oh, My Friend's a Total Jerk, you replied. Tell Me About It, I said. A movie played on a little screen showing you with some asshole. As we spoke I subtly tried to edge Guinevere closer to me.