Sweet dreams are made of...downey?

I spent most of my day unable to concentrate or focus on much of anything. I blame the dream I had last night.

I'm used to what other people would call nightmares: people trying to kill me (and sometimes succeeding), tornadoes ripping through the country, zombies on the loose, sharks in the water, being trapped in a haunted house. Very few of those kinds of dreams actually end up bothering me. I usually wake up and go right back to sleep without much thought (though sometimes I think they'd make a great story).

But last night, I didn't have the typical "they're coming to get you, Barbara" dreams.

I dreamed that I was hanging laundry in a yard. If the yard hadn't turned into a pool containing a large shark and a hapless swimmer, I'd worry there was something wrong with me.

Hanging laundry? I fear my recent bout of domesticity has invaded my subconscious and begun to slowly poison it. See, this is why I don't clean my room very often. It does odd things to my brain.

I'm nearly afraid of going to sleep tonight. What if I dream of vacuuming? Or doing the dishes? What if I'm wearing an apron?! Oh, the humanity!

Okay, so I'm just being an ass. I just thought it was weird that I dreamed of hanging laundry. And I'm not even sure whose laundry it was. None of the stuff on the line looked like stuff I'd wear. I didn't even look like it would fit.

And my subconscious must know that I don't love anyone enough to do their laundry for them. It's my least favorite chore. If I didn't have an aversion to wearing the same underwear two days in a row, I wouldn't even do mine.

It was great when the yard turned into a shark infested pool, though. That made me happy.