Freud Would Say That Sometimes a Muffin is Just a Muffin.

Last night I dreamt that I was stranded at a bakery. There were blueberry muffins and raspberry-lemon muffins and cinnamon scones with vanilla icing. Yes, they were delicious, but still I did not want to stay. I needed someone to drive me home but had no hope of rescue. It was sad. A sad, sad dream with lovely baked goods.

This isn't particularly interesting, I suppose. It is a departure from my usual dream life, being almost as mundane as my real life. This is where I would sigh if I were speaking aloud.

I am writing a poem that is kicking my ass in a bad way as it is almost what I imagine but not quite there. It involves taxidermy and massive amounts of internet research. Yes.

That's pretty much it. I cut my hair short and most people don't like it but I DO. So there.

I am still propping myself up with strong coffee and my stomach isn't very happy about it but I cannot properly caffeinate my brain without angering my gut. This is a simple fact of my existence.

I need to find some new obsessions. I am tired of my old ones.