I had two super-vivid dreams last night. The first one concluded with me waking up in a cold sweat (an actual, real cold sweat - I thought that was just a made-up thing) after I got scared to cross this towering bridge in an outdoor production of Wicked that I was working on.
Then I went back to sleep again and dreamt that my Mum and I were going to Old Trafford to watch the derby (which is today btw - v tense) but Dad was dropping us off and he drives like a pensioner so we were late, and then we couldn’t find the toilet, but then we all had to wait in line anyways because Conor Oberst was some kind of Hindu God that was there to bless the teams. Turns out I’d written him some song lyrics before so he asked to see me first and then we spent ages in this little office painting each other because I was disappointed to find that Oberst didn’t have blue skin or something.
Never did find out the derby score.
I’m going to find a pub that’s showing it in a while. Keep telling myself it doesn’t matter that Tevez and Adebayor are out because we beat United without them last season.