La musique: China Grove- The Doobie Brothers

I wish I'd stop dreaming about my Dad. I've willed him pretty much entirely out of my conscious thoughts, but he always finds a way to pop into my unconscious. My affect in general is largely a similar to his, so as much as it pains me to admit we are a lot alike. But I haven't had my pills all week, and I have to wait until payday before I can afford them. It's my irratic, unstable mood is what most often reminds me of the Ling blood in me.
I keep having other dreams that I'll wake up from and go "That would make a wicked movie!" (obviously if I stretched it out). I'll think to myself: "Self, you should write that down, you'll forget it in the morning." But I never write them down, and always forget them. The riff from "satisfaction" came to Keith Richards in a dream, so maybe I should work on getting those down.
This weekend should be a good break though, it's Chris from work's birthdays, and we're going to sip (read: shoot) bacardi like it's his birthday while listening to the beautiful karaoke crooners singing in checkers below.