I’m glad Carrie Underwood understands “me.”
I hate dreaming. Here is why. I don’t have dreams where I fly, ride horseback on unicorns, or go to Disneyland with the characters from the Never Ending Story. I have really mundane dreams. They involve my friends and family. They generally involve us eating diner, having conversations about my actual existing life and such. I wake up unsure if I really helped my mom make a Facebook page or if I really said all that to the boy or whether am in Brooklyn or Los Angeles. It takes a solid 30 minutes in the morning for me to take in my surroundings and determine what the hell is real and what are part of this TV show in my brain. It’s driving me insane.
Commiserate with me please.