No More Shots On School Nights

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life
(Hamlet)

Last week, when the mania of this month still felt new (and not like a muscular fist of acid in the pit of my stomach) I met up for drinks with E & J, a great couple, and tore into some beers and a few shots - on a school work night. It felt good. I didn't care about functioning the next day. I needed to talk, relax, have a laugh with good friends. We talked about the stuff that often feels like it's missing from my life now - interesting theatre, movies, stuff we'd read, sports, history....you know.
Topics I like.

I went home and flopped into bed. I wasn't (and still am not) sleeping much, but a few restless hours need to be squeezed in somewhere, if only to try and alleviate my current "face of meth" chic.
And I had a dream that I woke up from in tears.

It wasn't a nightmare. That's the only way I can describe it - a dream I woke up from in tears. And I don't even remember the full-fledged plot, or arc of what was happening, just the moment that startled the crap out of me. 

In the dream, I am my current look and age. I am talking to my mother in the kitchen of their house. Everything looks as it does now. I hear the garage door, loud as always. Who the hell is that? After a beat, in walks my dad. But....it's Dad from about 20 years ago. He's just come back from work, in uniform. And even though I'm completely in shock, I run like a child and throw my arms around him. I don't want to let go. Because 30 year old me knows what's coming and wants to protect Dad from 20 years ago. He smiles and eventually peels me off, and says "I'm going upstairs to change" just as he did every night when he got home. He turns and heads up the stairs.
I turn to look at my mom, the source of all comfort and explanations, but she's gone.
Suddenly, the basement door opens a few feet away and Dad comes up. And he looks at me.
We both freeze.
Because he went upstairs just moments ago, and has emerged from the basement. Which is impossible. Dad looks at me, and he looks scared. Like he suddenly understands as well that something is terribly wrong with the world we're in. His eyes are wide. I'm scared too. And again I run and hug him, and this time he holds me like HE doesn't want to let go either.

I woke up in tears.

No more shots on school nights, huh? Everything feels upside down. Like you're trapped in a MC Escher print.

Meanwhile....Still no luck on the apartment front. At this point, I think "it's a year. You can get by for one more year." I am so utterly burnt out on the matter. Needs to be over.

Here's a bit of cheer for us to part with. I would have liked Les Miserables if it had been more like Mean Girls.