[Bristling and ugly]
My sleep was littered with bad dreams. One involved John Cusack at the center of what would have made a disturbing psychological horror flick. With torture! A tortured child, no less, lying in bed with dead bodies and entrails hanging from the ceiling above him. I'm not sure if John Cusack was the good guy or the bad guy, but that seems like the kind of role he would play these days.

In another dream, I was trying to convince Phil that I didn't want to get on whatever plane I was scheduled to get on in the next couple of hours because I knew that this time I would die in a fiery explosion or, failing that, on my way down to meet the unforgiving earth. But we never got a chance to decide if I would actually go, because Phil looks out the door and says, "Why is there a jet flying so close to my house?" And we see a nice big plane flying past the house, a big orange and white one (I can't find which airline flies orange and white planes ... please tell me if you know), about a couple hundred feet away. It turns and heads straight for us and it crashes into the house and a fiery exploding mess wakes me up.

There are some little demon dream elves living in my skull.