Dear My Dreams,
I really appreciate you popping around every night, and allowing my mind to not only work the 18 hours I'm awake, but also the 7 hours I sleep*. Thanks. No really, thanks.
I also appreciate the fantastically bizarre things you bring to me each night. I now have the reassurance that I am not only exceptionally intelligent, but also amazingly creative. So Thanks. No really, thanks.
I guess I should apologise for trying to drug you away, because clearly this doesn't work. It just makes you bring weirder things.
But please, please oh blessed dreams, could I ask you this one small favour? If you are not going to be about Wentworth Miller and I having naughty, sexy times, then please, please go away.
I know this is hard to hear, but I don't actually like you.
I'm sorry.
I thank you in advance for you adherence to my terms set out above.
Regards,
Kerryn
* I know that there are only 24 hours in a day and not 25 . . . . this is just a further indication of how tired I am.
