gratuitous dream journal entry

I was in a large, wood-paneled, gothic library and everyone was drinking cocktails, shaking my hand and telling me how happy they were to see me. I was a celebrity. The librarian even asked if I could give them an extra copy of Camille's Eye-Balls.

Flattering, ego-stoking dreams rarely visit me. It portends well. The juxtaposition of the academe with the patently ridiculous strikes me as a fantastic example of dream-logic.

I spent a few years being my ridiculous self in the oak-paneled, marble-lined, brass-fixtured, Jesuit-funded environs of my alma mater. I don't mind being ridiculous, it is something I accept about myself along with my brown hair and flat feet.