Originality and Creativity Part 2: A Post Stolen from Eric's Usual Domain

So, I had a dream this morning. That's not too interesting, I'm sure I have them all the time. So, before we proceed any further, this dream wasn't very long or very interesting, but it's the first dream I've remembered in quite a while.

So there was this guy, middle aged, going gray around the edges, kinda short, wearing a suit, standing... somewhere. There were a lot of brick walls about. We might have been in a small courtyard or something. Anyway, I've never seen this man in my life before, but you can be damn sure I knew he was one of my profs in this dream. The dream was an exercise in akwardness: I clearly wanted to talk to this prof, but I didn't really know him, couldn't think of what he lectured on, and was thus trying to think of a conversation topic. All of a sudden I notice that in my hands is one of the Playmakers! pitchers (It was the bronze one that goes with those cups that don't stand up right because they're bronze and the bottoms of them keep getting bent out of shape). However, this pitcher immediately reminded me that my mother had told me that this guy had something to do with hockey, and when I inspected it more closely, I noticed the NHL crest painted on its side. This encouraged me and I ran over with the pitcher, only to realize that not only do I know nothing about hockey, but I didn't actually know this guy's connection to it either. So then I was right beside him, holding this pitcher, saying something like, "So, you're into hockey?" and kind of displaying this pitcher that I was carrying to see if I could figure out what I was supposed to be talking about. It became akward, the only other thing I remember was saying something like "Well, like, my mom she... gets hold of my schedule a lot" or something equally retarded. Then my distended bladder woke me up and I drained it.

True story.

In other news, the rest of Easter weekend went pretty well. I went to my grandma's on Sunday and filled myself. The conversation eventually disintegrated into a huge argument about Native rights between all adults present, so I began clearing the table. Brendan said something like "You know, here I am in my 23rd year on the planet" and, of course, the only logical thing for me to do at that point was yell (well, sing tunelessly) "How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now!" as I walked back into the kitchen, which I managed to turn into a full rendition a little later.

Monday I Greyhounded it back here. I watched some episodes of Bleach, studied for my next exam, and went out for dinner at East Side's. Seriously, I hadn't eaten that much since... the day before. But before that, man it was a long time. We'd dispatched 9 loaves of garlic bread and 3 salads before our meals arrived. Our table was littered with half-empty pots of whipped butter. I seriously considered just continuing to eat bread and salad and getting my real food wrapped up to eat today. Then I came home and watched Weather Man, which was OK. Cage isn't my favourite actor, but the character seemed to suit him. Michael Cain was in it, but I thought he was a little weird. I still liked it though. Don't know why... I suppose I did like the ending a lot.

So yeah, then I went to bed. And dreamed. True story.