Had a series of strange dreams last night: in one, D. and I were moving into an apartment that was already crowded with furniture and assorted detritus. It turned out that we weren’t moving into our own place but subletting a room in a house of college-age guys, a buncha football-watching, coors-drinking, subliterate yahoos. It was pretty disheartening, but we didn’t know where else we could go. We moved as much stuff of ours as we could fit, and he decided to hang his bike from the ceiling. At one point, one of the guys picked up my guitar and started messing around with it, and I got really upset. Later, D. and I were walking through a pretty grotty urban area. We stopped into a bodega where an elderly black woman was buying milk for her two preschool-aged kids.

In another dream, the CEO of my company was showing us and a few other people his new entrepreneurial idea: a traveling treat truck, kind of like an ice cream truck but with more options. They all had cutesy names, but the only one I can remember is “Karamel Korn,” written in a circusy-style font. I derided it and admonished the CEO to spell the damn thing right. He was disappointed that everyone wasn’t knocked out by his cleverness and/or concept.

Finally, I dreamed that I got an email from D.’s ex, but it was in the format of the Washington City Paper’s online message board. It started out, “I know why the worm gnaws the bitter bulb. I know why the worm wears a hat. And why I wear a hat.” It went on like that for about 4-5 more sentences, and the last one was really funny, but I woke up with Let’s Active’s “Mr. Fool” in my head and forgot it before I had a chance to write it down. I don’t know what the deal with these ex-girlfriend dreams is lately. Frickin weird, and annoying. Though I kind of dig the Blakean overtones.

Yesterday sucked seven ways till sundown. Well, at least three ways, viz:

1. We found out that the company did horribly during the second quarter, meaning no Q2 bonus. Which I was counting on what with moving expenses and all.
2. About half an hour later, I was told that we can’t backfill for Katie’s position until December at the earliest. This is a huge blow, since we’re understaffed editorially as it is and I’ll have to do all of Katie’s work plus mine. Suckage supreme.
3. The coup de grace came about another 30 minutes later: D. called to say he had to work this weekend and wouldn’t be flying up. I know it’s short-term selfish, but I’ve been depressed all day with the prospect of a boring, solitary weekend.

Last night was better, though. T. invited me over for the second night this week and made a scrump-dilly-icious dinner, which we ate al fresco with K., T.’s college pal, and her kids.

And my buddy Mike gave me a belated birthday present today: The Evolution Control Committee’s Plagiearythm Nation. Between that and the boss new Let’s Active tribute featuring the fabulous King Kilowatt (see, that’s why I woke up with a Mitch Easter song in me noggin), I have some good listening ahead of me over the weekend.