Last night's nightmare: my spontaneous friend runs a cafeteria. she decides, spontaneously, she is going to marry a man. a madwoman chases me down with a car. i am brave. but i have to run up a tree. she runs me down anyway.

It means I really don't trust men but I don't trust women either. I'm safe, because I'm not either one. Unfortunately, love is like Santa Claus. It's no fun anymore if you believe it doesn't exist. My denial is a tree.

If dreams were real, I would be hunted down by madwomen in cars and steel blade bulls and always losing my father. Instead, I get to wake up, listen to music, be comforted by my cat boyfriend, think about the lives of ironic men I love at 4 in the morning. I know Rimbaud and Cary Grant and Batman had nightmares and insomnia all the time. Maybe nightmares are the side effect of irony.