There is nothing more boring than

Other people’s dreams

My own dreams are dreary enough

But at least they’re familiar

And I probably won’t remember them anyway

In an hour

But when this other person narrates some plotless nightmare


While I listen politely and try to look interested and

Help analyze and


Each surreal image

I draw the line.

And worse, when said dreamer writes down every dream

In endless notebooks

Kept on the bedside table along with a sharpened pencil

In order to preserve

Each night’s saga

And hands the pages to me and asks

Me to read

And comment.

Hmmm I say

Perhaps you should publish.

This stuff is too good to waste

On me.

About Karen To and Fro

Everything you didn't want to know about me!
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