Stephenie Meyer claims Twilight started as a dream. Her dreams must make a bit more sense than mine do. Mine would never make a decent novel, though they wouldn’t be bad prompts for crack fic. Case in point: Last night I dreamt Josh was President (laughable, considering he’s not old enough) and I became the only First Lady to ever go on Dancing with the Stars. In a hot pink feathered thing with fake blonde hair, I performed a rhumba to Joe Jackson’s “Breaking Us in Two”. Bruno tore it apart. Bizarre dream is bizarre.
This was almost as good as the one where I was stuck in a bad BDSM fic, and the dude jumped into the room wearing a tacky-ass kimono and I laughed at him—and kept laughing through my punishment.