I'm tired dudes. That thing with girl and the editing.... I was up to late dealing with "technical issues" regarding my computer and stuff. Real late. Then I had this weird nightmare.

I was being taunted my this 'gang' of sorts made out of UCB improv actors. Actually it was a bunch of young kids that are on Harold teams at the theatre. They're not great, they're not bad. They're nice people, but a part of me is jealous of their accomplishments. Like I said, they're by no means great but they are years younger and will be much better when they reach my age... anyhow, I'm talking with one of the guys after a show and in the background another guy is being a prick and we end up exchanging insult. Then the entire group tells us we need to settle this by a good old fashion street fight. It's me against the other guy and his posse leaves us so we can fight alone and mainly save myself some embarrassement in public. My adrenaline starts pumping. This guy, while kind of a dork is trim and totally in shape and a prick so his confidence is probably through the roof and mine is not. I'm just thinking "I've never been in a fight before. Oh god." We brawl. It's vicious. Straight hatred. I actually get the upperhand and I don't stop. I'm in the fucking zone. I'm better and I'm not only going show this fuck, but all is improv buddies too. I mean business. I beat him to a bloody pulp and then don't stop. Just to see if I can, I rip off his head. I shove it in burlap sack and start throwing it around until its fucking mush. I look at what's left and it's not even human. It's like green mush. My hearts pounding. I did it. I beat this guy. I did more than that. I pulverised him. Literally. Those young improv brats don't have nothing on me now...

Then it hits me. OH MY GOD. I killed him. In my blind rage I took a man's life. (There's a quick thought that he might have been a zombie because of the green instead of red, but it's broken up by...) The Improv posse returns. They look around and are shocked that I'm victorious but also that I'm the only one around. "Where's John?" one of them asks. I start feeling guilty, real guilty, I could go to jail or get the death penalty. "I kicked his ass pretty bad and he ran off. I donno where?" And they look worried. "Well it's getting late and he's only 17 and his parents love him a lot are going to get worried." Oh god... a kid, a seventeen-year-old. His parents are never going to see him again and it's all my fault. I tell them he went that way and good luck finding him. Then I get dizy and sick. I was the last person to see this kid. That's what the police are going to say when his parents file a police report. It was a simple fight and I had to go overboard. Over the fucking board. Some time passes, my conscience is so heavy. I'm disgusted and frightened for what I did and what will happen. Ring-Ring. My cell phone. My heart drops. I don't recognize the number. This is it. I'm going to jail and then hell. I wait and a message is left. It's dark and cold. I take a deep breath and hold down the 1 button.

"Hello this is Martin. Martin Short. I heard that you were playing with Johnny earlier and we're really worried about him because nobody has seen him and you're the last one who saw him and it's unlike him to dissapear like this. Please give me a call at home. My number is..." Martin Fucking Short. I killed a famous person's kid. Not only that, it's the Martin Short of now. His voice was vounerable as if he knows his career is dead and his wife left him and this kid is the only thing good in his life. And I killed it. I'm getting the death penalty for sure. I dead. I'm so fucking dead. I put his poor child's head in a sack and thumped it into pulp. Martin Short doesn't need this. He's been ruthlessly humilated over the movies and shows he's done over the past ten years and I killed his 17-year-old son. Is there a worse person on this earth?

The dream goes on for an agonizingly long time which me balancing my guilt with evading police. And when I woke up, it was one of those "oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, it was just a dream." Do you ever have those, where the dream is so vivid and so taxing on your mind you wake up and it takes a couple mintues for you to wonder if you just blacked out or something and you now have to deal with the consiquences. It doesn't happen often to me, but I hate that feeling. I get emotionally wasted and it just wears me down. Sleep is supposed to recharge you.

So that's where I'm at. I'm tired and I blame this movie, my computer and that dream.

I feel I should mention that I have a new short term goal in my life which is to quit biting my finger nails. I've done it all my life and have never tried to quit. Now I am.