I have to stop eating fake meat in a can for lunch.

Although I’m sure the next statement will be construed as too much information, I’m currently in the midst of a serious “digestive incident” involving repeat doses of Imodium and frequent dashes down the hall at startling speed for a senior citizen with a cane. Sam, who’s already asleep, has no idea what’s going on, and there’s certainly no need to disturb him since there’s not much he can do about my intestines at 2:45 in the morning. (I guess there’s not much I can do about them, either.)

Do you ever remember your dreams? I’m experiencing a new phenomenon this week ... vivid dreams that I recall in intricate detail. This afternoon I conked out on the chaise in our family room and proceeded to have a steamy affair with Mitt Romney. He apparently showed up as a paramedic to bandage my injured foot and then followed me around like a lovesick puppy at a GOP cocktail party. When we ran into Ronald Reagan I told him Mitt and I were in love and he wanted me to change my vote. At that point I woke up long enough to mutter “HOLY CRAP” and then dreamed I was at a huge, busy urban intersection trying to find the right bus to get home. It was freezing cold outside and I didn’t have a coat, and all kinds of people were directing me from corner to corner until I finally walked into a birthday card shop to look at bus schedules pinned to a wall, but none of them made any sense. I recall being very freaked out but have no recollection if I ever figured out how to get home.

Bottom line: I definitely have to stop eating fake meat in a can for lunch.

Thank you for reading this.