This morning I accidentally swallowed a little bit of Listerine.

I feel slightly woozy.

Why do some people refer to a blog entry as a “blog,” and a blog as “blogs” plural?

“I like your blogs.”

But I have only one.

“No, I mean I like the blog you wrote yesterday.”

But I didn’t write an entire blog yesterday. I wrote a blog entry. This whole endeavor is my blog.

“Huh?”

Exactly.

It’s so dark and cloudy out again. It sort of doesn’t feel like a real day.

Woody Allen’s recent movies are not as good as his earlier ones.

More later.

Last night I dreamed that someone stole all my possessions, and I realized it was because I’d given someone my credit card. I lived in a big communal room with a bunch of other people, and all my possessions, including my bed, were contained in an armoire against a wall. Everyone else who lived in the room had an armoire, too. One day I came back to the room and realized that there was a gap where my armoire used to be, and that’s when I realized I’d used my credit card to pay for several things, and that one of the clerks who’d had access to my card must have somehow stolen my possessions. But I had no idea who. I felt guilty for having been so careless.

The cops showed up, and then I realized that my armoire had come back — whether because of the cops or in spite of them, I’m not sure. At any rate, all my possessions were still in the armoire… except for my wallet. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or not.

Buffy 7.22: Chosen.

Amen.