i gotta stop watching latenight hockey highlights...

i woke up this morning and had to laugh a little about the dream i'd been having as i came to.

i was in an institution of learning, of some sort --i'm not sure if it was a college or high school type situation, but i was definitely in a writing class. we had just finished a project, and (much to my surprise and dismay), we had to read something out loud to the other students. the thing that made me really squirmy and nervous was that i had written my essay/paper/short story about peter forsberg... who was sitting directly across from me...

forsberg went first. i don't actually know what his piece was about, because i was too busy panicking inside my head about what to do. i know his was funny, though, because the class seemed to chuckle in unison at all the right parts [damn you, forsberg, and your clever, witty penmanship !]. i rummaged through my notebook, looking for a suitable alternative to my real dissertation, with an obvious "fuck the grade, i'll read anything" attitude. i was sweating...

the amused-looking girl to my right leans over and states "he's pretty hot..."
i, of course, agree.
she continues, "...too bad about the face..."

after that, it gets kinda fuzzy. i know it was someone else's turn (and, to be honest, i'm pretty sure that someone was ashton kutcher), and then it would be me. but then there was some sort of recess or break, and this nameless guy [who was a perfect mix of barry pepper and mel, the guy from outlook saskatchewan who taught me how to two-step in a parking lot outside a wedding reception] came in and put his arm around me. and i was completely starry-eyed in love with this dude...

the conclusion of this dream is what my brother would describe as a typical tobes ending: there isn't one.

the end.