Apparently I carefully mold lost bits of my childhood into hysterical biting satire

Last night, after spending something like 48 consecutive hours in bed trying to escape the cold, i had a very disturbing dream. It wasn't that the dream itself was disturbing; it was actually kind of pleasant in a surreal, bittersweet kind of way. It was that i had it at all that i find disturbing.

Why a dream about a phone call from a person i haven't even seen for, what... six years? Seven? Maybe eight? A person whom, furthermore, I was never really very close to to begin with. Why did I find it so pleasing, and why did i so very much not want it to end?

Don't make me fight you, brain.

Mass. Marriages

It was odd. I won't say surreal, or fake, just... it didn't make sense.

It was like a play that, for me, didn't quite work- not because of poor material or bad acting, but rather because I knew the actors too well for suspension of disbelief to take hold and let me accept them in the roles they were playing. It just didn't make sense for one of us to play that part. Why accept this role?

Taking a step back, the answer is fairly obvious, and any honest professional review of the performance can't fault the performers for their choices. The reason the piece is so unsettling is because it makes the audience question our own role choices. On the Census of Life we've checked every single box straight down the "other" column, and to see one of our very own go and do something so brutally normal...

But as long as we've still got our artistic license, we're doing alright.