Upsetting dream last night. I was at my old house, in my old neighborhood, and there were a lot of people around. My dad was mowing the lawn. Some of the details are fuzzy, but I remember knowing that my mom was gone. My dad thought she was at the doctor's because she was sick. But--because of a premonition--I knew that on her way home she'd gotten into a horrible accident. I was crying so hard at the thought of losing my mom and my dad couldn't understand what was wrong. I was trying to tell him when the police called. I ran down Turtleback to the part of the neighborhood where Mem lived. Except I was looking for Foxy Boy. He had been there earlier, and was the only one who believed me.

Then, in real life, my phone wakes me up. It's Foxy Boy. Pulling one of his famous middle-of-the-night-drunk-dials. It was a strange (well, i guess not strange. i don't know. but i felt a little odd talking to him) conversation that ended 1.5 hours later after 3 cell phone disconnects. I should have just gone to work then, since I was up. But I went back to sleep and now I'm dragging hard core and am going to be much later than I thought. Oh well.

I think things are going to be weird in LA. At least for the first little bit. And it's solely going to be my fault. Because as confrontational as I normally am, there are certain types of conversations I try to avoid at all costs.