I don't know who I'd say my best friend is here (as I'm not the sort of person to give people titles unless we have a legal reason to do so), but I'm really glad that they're not a Vicodin addicted asshole that I'm forced to rat out to a detective. Then I just feel guilty. Well. More guilty than usual.
Stupid dreams, I feel all weird and punch drunk after I have them, even though they're not that different from my daily life. Just more drama because of said asshole.