I think perhaps I've gotten carried away with an obsession when it starts to work its way into my dreams. All night last night I dreamed about Buffy. Not that I was in Sunnydale, hanging with the Scoobies, or anything cool like that, but that I was at my freaking class reunion, which is coming up in a few months but which I have no intentions whatsoever of attending, and I was stuck there because of car trouble or somesuch, and it was Tuesday night, and I was stressing something fierce over the prospect of not being home on time for Buffy.

On the other hand, my date to the reunion was David Boreanaz, so it wasn't all bad.

I fell on my face last night. That wasn't part of the dream, it really happened, and now I'm sore. I took my dog out as soon as I got home, and my mom's big-ass dog went with us. He wandered down the street just past the reach of the street lamp, where he proceeded to get into it with something. It might have just been a cat, but then it might have been a racoon or something rabid, I couldn't tell. I called him back, but he ignored me, and then my little dog decided to go check it out. For somebody that only has three-inch long legs, that little sucker is fast. So I had to run after him, because he ignored my calls too. I'm running across the yard, in boots with three-inch heels -- because I hadn't changed from work yet -- and, of course, lost my footing, and landed in the muddy leaves, face down, all sprawled out and in pain. At least there were no witnesses (and so I tell the world about it here. Bright of me, eh?), and at least I managed to not land on my tiny dog. Go me.