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Ugh. I hate being invited to black tie events. I have to figure out what to wear, I have to find an escort - it's so much bother to just sit and be bored. But if I decline, I look ungrateful. Double edged sword.

Ever have one of those moments where things just pile on top of one another until you kind of feel like you're drowning in minutia? I'm having one of those lives, I think.

I'm going to hide in bed. Anyone who wants to shirk adult responsibilities can come with me. We can read under the covers by flashlight.

Because I know you all care so much (SARCASM!), I'm giving you a STATE OF THE BABY UPDATE.

1) The baby is now the size of a sweet potato! This is awesome because it means I can feel her kick. But it's's kind of bad because now I imagine my baby as a delicious warm confection topped with marshmallows.

2) Pete kinda sucks at wall painting. His hair is now an awesome shade of blue-green in some places.

3) Barfing is done, but now I've got heartburn out the ying yang. ET TU, CURRY?

4) I might have built an elaborate trebuchet based delivery system for diapers out of two-by-fours. I'm also not sorry.

My therapist figures writing on here might help some. So, ah, here goes.

Dreaming of being another person is really weird. Of course dreaming this and seeing all the talk of dreams coming through and true is even more nervous making. I'm not fond of my dreamself. Not remotely.

What makes things worse is discovering the original copy of my birth certificate and that my name is not what I think it is. But the name of my dream self.

That... freaks me out. How do you even process that your name is not what you think it is. it makes this dream thing seem a whole lot less fun, even, than it was before.

So. Today, I accidentally saw a stuntman's bum. For whatever reason, he has a tattoo of a pirate queen on it. And it looks exactly like me in my dreams. I'm amused, to say the least.

I've reached a (very reluctant) decision.

While sitting here, shoveling chow mein noodles mixed with fried rice into my mouth, I came to the realization that I should probably start, I don't know, running or something. My food choices will start catching up to me the older I get. That's how it works, right?

I hate running.

Malfunction. Neeeed innnnnpuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut.

Why do I feel as if I was just struck by 1.21 gigawatts of electricity? Oh, that's right. Because I dreamed it.

I can only assume that I have now experienced this phenomenon that everyone keeps talking about.