Live-Blogging My Death

You know what the most boring topic of conversation is? People's dreams. Not their aspirations - though yawn to that, too - but their nighttime imaginations. We're all guilty of sharing our "amazing" dreams with people who are inevitably not entertained. Often, the listener starts (day)dreaming himself about something else because the dream he's being told is so irrelevant. Granted, it's intense and important to the person who had the dream, but you know what? It's fiction. Who has time for fiction? There's too much reality going on in my world for me to care about you flying into space with your high school math teacher, thankyouverymuch. (Exception: If you tell me you had a sex dream involving me, I will actually pay attention and ask follow-up questions.)

In an effort to show I am as much a hypocrite as anyone, I'm going to share my dream from last night, but I promise it's brief and ultimately shows my dedication to you, dear readers.

In real life, my street is lined with seventy-foot palm trees, which are cool in a "wow, I live in California" way, but also terrify me because they sway a lot in the wind and I am convinced that they are going to fall over and kill me. This fear was the source of my dream: one of the palm trees uprooted in a storm and came crashing through my roof, landing on me lying in bed. Pinned and suffering under the weight of the tree, I wasn't able to reach my phone, but I could reach my laptop. As I grew weaker, I blogged my last will and testament, as well as some parting thoughts.

Evidently, I'm committed to blogging even in my final moments of life. Y'all better Digg the shit out of my post the day I live-blog my death, ya hear?