I know it wouldn't come to love, my heroine pretend

Last night, I had a dream that Dr. Graves was murdering people, and so all of the theatre faculty decided to move classes outside of Krannert into tents so that it would be harder for him to murder people since he wouldn't know where to look. As it got worse and worse, Tom Mitchell became the detective, and I think that somehow I was trying to help, but he told me to save myself, and to go live in a tent.

I'm not kidding.

This morning I had pancakes, as it is Sunday (Pancake Day). Then I went to the grocery store. I saw the cutest kid ever, and he was pretty precocious, but I thought it was cute. I guess not everyone did.

CASHIER: (Wrinkles nose, and I grow nervous, thinking it is aimed toward me) I'm NEVER getting pregnant.

BAGGER: You probably ARE pregnant and you just don't KNOW it.


I couldn't find anything I needed there except for the blueberries and nectarines, so I went to the other grocery store. The selection of spinach was disappointing, and I circled and circled that store looking for all the other stuff I needed. Finally I went to the self-checkout and this man next to me who was also trying to do the self-checkout was growing more and more agitated.

SELF-CHECK LADY'S VOICE: Please place your item in the bag.

MAN: I did, lady!

VOICE: Please place your item in the bag.

MAN: We are in a fight!

VOICE: Do you have any coupons?

MAN: Why do you always have to know EVERYTHING?! You're always on my case! (To me) I hope you don't run into anyone else as crazy as me today.


But I understood. I was having troubles of my own. It wouldn't scan my pita bread. My life is so hard. Now I'm re-writing my David Mamet article. He is nuts.

I wish Murphy were here.

Love,
Amy