Writers of the Apocalypse * My Music
Friday, February 18, 2005
dream
It was a jumble of emotions I wish I could have expressed last night: nothing romantic, though, but they all had to do with the jerk. The part I remember most was him standing at the Boomtown wine counter with paperwork in his hand. Something important had come up - and Britaniana was there - and I'd had to interrupt him to talk to him. He snapped at me of course - he hates being interrupted.
I told him, look... do I ever interrupt you unless its important? I never do.
After a moment he agreed I was right, but his voice was still on edge. So I repeated myself. Don't snap at me for having to deal with business. I dunno.
He was wearing white again. I figure I have to determine what this means, this excessive usage of the colour white.
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