A 3:42 a.m. packing anxiety dream

is not a great way to start the day. It was the kind I hate most where my stuff is in some place that is not my house. Usually, I have 15 minutes to get my shit together, but this time I had to make my dad turn the car around because I forgot something critical and we were already running late.

Nightmares when I was a kid at least involved something exciting like fire. Or falling down stairs.