Life may imitate art, but dreams also imitate life sometimes too.

Last night, I dreamt that I was rehearsing for the play, and that it was completely chaotic, and nobody–myself included–seemed to know what was happening. So it was pretty much like last night’s tech rehearsal.

From there, the dream changed its location to a dusty basement, full of Tossed In and all the other actors. It seems we had thrown a party recently, but not cleaned up after it, so we were walking around in this basement looking at all of the stuff we’d left behind. Barbecue with the charred remains of animal of undetermined species, various dishes, cooking pots, wine bottles, everything was all over the place. Tossed In told me that if I could make a list of all the stuff that was down there, that would be great “because then we can delegate” people to clean it all up. “Okay,” I said, “but I won’t have any time to do it until after Saturday [when the play is over].”

Then I had an almost completely unrelated dream, in which I’m lying on the sofa in the same basement (the relation to the other dream stops there) cuddling with an ex-girlfriend who will remain nameless here. (It’s probably not who you think.) We’re not really doing anything, but my hand is underneath her shirt. We’re lying there silently for quite a while, when she gets up abruptly and says, “I don’t think so.” I make apologies, but she leaves. I stay on the sofa alone for a long time after that, feeling uncomfortable and remorseful.

It’s safe to say that last night wasn’t the most restful night I’ve ever had.