I had weird dreams. At one point, I distinctly heard a voice say, “The van door is open.” Another time, I was trying to get a large group of Mexicans (and Deacon Rafael, who is actually Puerto Rican) to do something.
When I have dreams like that, I wake up more tired than I was when I went to bed. They wear me out because I have to work so hard, either emotionally or physically.
I don’t know why, but I’m hungry. I think I have a frozen waffle, but I would load it with butter and syrup, and that’s not what I need to lose weight. I want a salad, but I have nothing to make one. I usually buy one at Walmart, and one salad is enough for two servings, but there’s not enough, and I’m not digging into my laundry money...
It’s time to take some pills, so I will need to eat something after that. What, though...?
Ooops! I lied.