Last night I had a long complicated dream that I barely remember, except that part where some semi-famous actor or singer filled our fridge, like to the point where it would barely shut, with fancy expensive European cheeses. Mmmm, though K wondered, if I’m anything like Buffy, does dreaming about cheese mean the coming apocalypse? Anyway, in another part of the dream I was going to get tattooed and someone (msandromeda? joyfulgirl41? I’m unsure as the person kept sort of shifting) was telling me that I couldn’t get a tattoo all the way down my right forearm because it would be too visible and I was arguing that since my left arm was already sleeved that it was irrelevant. The tattoo I was getting in the dream? “How would broken find the bones?” in fancy script, from elbow to wrist on the outside of my forearm. The only person in my dream to try and talk me out of this was K and her argument was that it would hurt too much. Oddly, I’m now tempted to incorporate this when I do get my right sleeve done.

In other news, I have such bad cramps that I’m sure I might die. Oh sometimes it’s hard not to hate being a girl. Excuse me while I go curl up on the floor and cry until the hideous pain passes.