I dreamt that I was on a train and I had a little box of animals that were cute like puppies, but were tiny and acted like roaches. They kept crawling out of the box and hiding in cracks and under stuff. I was diligently trying to keep them all in the box, but it was a losing proposition. I noticed the train had parked at my stop so I started to disembark. I guess I just left them there, they seemed to have matured enough to look after themselves.

Was hanging out with iggy pop backstage at a show or something. I was supdosed to be interviewing him but mostly I was acting like a spazzy fanboy. Iggy was a little hostile and patronizing towards me and then suddenly announced it was time to shoot up. I eagerly asked if I could watch and he warmed right up to the idea. He even gave me a clean syringe of my own so I could try it on myself. As he went through his ritual with his spoon and lighter, I filled up my needle with tapwater. I was impressed with the neat and orderly placement of trackmarks on his arm. The sign of a true professional.

I watched as he broke the skin and drew a little blood up into the chamber. I focused on my own arm and readied the needle over a suitable vein. As the heroin hit his bloodstream, he had a full body spasm and knocked into me, causing the tip of my needle to drag down my arm, opening up a sizeable gash. I was bleeding profusely and looking for some assistance or sympathy, and iggy went to lay down on the dingy dressing room sofa, completely wrapped up in his own swiftly warping reality. As he nodded off, I woke up.

I was walking with a group of friends -none of them real- up a road toward the house that I grew up in. We passed a house and I let everybody know that: a) the family that lives here are really wealthy, and b) that I am close friends with them. We enter the house as if we have been invited, although there is nobody home.

Once inside, I remind everyone that a) the family that lives here are really wealthy, and b) that I am close friends with them. We all break up into groups of 2 or 3 to explore and I end up wandering around alone. The house is mostly wood and rustic looking, and has the smell of old canvas and wood smoke. One woman in the group who has been through some recent personal trauma breaks down crying and the group slowly reconvenes to offer support.

As a kind of healing rite she sheds all her clothing and the group closes in around her. After a moment, she moves toward the exit and we all let her. From the hallway I watch her go through the door and out on to the porch. She is beautiful.

I was sitting around with a bunch of my coworkers and one of them busted out a great Jane Pauley impersonation. I followed it with a killer Deborah Norville and got bigger laughs.