To have dreams about cigarettes when you're "quitting." Last night I had a dream I was at some music festival or something, and I was in a tent backstage somewhere, hanging out with Okkervil River, of all people, and one of them handed me a cigarette, and I smoked it down greedily without a second thought. And then, in the dream, I felt awful and hated myself and knew I had to start all over.
It was nice to wake up and realize it wasn't true.
I went downtown last night, to RAIN, of all fucking places, with my friend Bill to watch the gay karaoke. They have a big, smoky patio that made me a little nervous at first, but it turned out to be fine.
I almost sang Amarillo by Morning, but didn't, and instead we met three very cute and friendly guys and talked to them all night. They're all in the theater grad program at UT. One is in the directing program and plans to move to Chicago, the one I was really interested in is studying Acting. On a graduate level. Hmm. I got no numbers. Just the chatting was enough.
Though there might have to be some serious MySpace stalking taking place today.
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