It figures that the first day of work would be the first day I felt better. I still punted the gym tonight, but I think I must have really been tired. Usually when I call something off (like staying home from work) I immediately feel better and thus feel guilty about being so lame. But this time I felt even more tired.

The only good thing about being a little sick is the dreams I’ve had. Some of them were pretty interesting. Last night, my dad was sitting in his t-shirt with his hair all askew, looking at a computer screen, clicking a mouse all over the tabletop. I asked my sister where he came from and she told me that my brother-in-law had exhumed him. Yeah, I miss my dad.

Sunday I was back in my old college dorm, trying to use the elevator. But the elevator went in 3-dimensions and turned into a trolley. I was trying to figure out the buttons when a woman told me that we were in “Benjamin Square” (which doesn’t exist in Cambridge). She said I didn’t look harmful and wanted to know if I wanted to get coffee.

I’m not about to examine my dreams for any meaning but they’re kind of fun to see.