Sunday Secret

I love pimples. In-so-much as the popping of them. When I was a kid, my mom.....er, um....when I was a teenager, I used to get.....oh, er......well, it seems there is no way to have this conversation without crossing that imaginary line I have drawn of decency and decorum. I will just say this:

I have this recurring dream. I have several, most of them dark, actually, but there is this one. It is about a zit. Just a zit, floating in space. And it pops. And, well, have you ever seen a snake poop? It pops a lot like that. It is gross on seven different levels and it is a very long, drawn out dream. Analyze that.

Anyway, I worry about my weird self having those weird dreams, but secretly, when no one's looking and I have spent the better part of the evening with a bottle of whiskey, sometimes I look forward to that dream.

Because I am a sick, twisted person. That's why.