We don’t talk about dreams at work.

I had one job where people would come in and talk about their fucked up dreams. That was fun.

The people I work with now probably don’t have very fucked up or entertaining dreams.

I was thinking about using the girl dressed as Fozzie the Bear thing in something–but I’d have to lose Sherlock Holmes fetish reference in the novel so it ain’t happening–and it reminded me of one of my finest moments.

I stole it, of course, but I stole it from WKRP in Cincinnati, which gives it some real texture.

One day at work, a few people were talking about their dreams. And I followed them with: yeah, I dreamt I killed my father and crawled into bed my with mother–weird, huh?

Everyone just stared at me. No one knew what to say.

It was freaking great.

I’d love to use it again here; I don’t know if anyone could deal with it (and my boss might say he dreamt he killed his mother and crawled into bed with his father). It’d be superb. Too bad they’re all so boring.