Stupid fiction.

My dream cheated me.

It was one of those dreams where each moment progresses normally, and rational things happen. I was there and then stuff happened in a normal way. Conversations, feelings, kisses. And then I went home and went to sleep in my own room. It was so vivid, and so real that when I woke up, I was completely convinced that it actually had happened. I got up thinking “I can’t wait to go to class, because then I’ll see him again.”

But then I found the rolled up taco-bell receipt in my jeans pocket and realized that no, it hadn’t. I had gone to taco-bell last night, and then had come home to work on my essay.

Stupid dreams. Evil evil dreams. They should come with disclaimers saying “this is fiction.”