02/07/2004 - 1:58 p.m. | left of center

The connecting factor in my long, long series of dreams last night is that I murdered Stephen King (somehow? through the internet?) before he was able to finish the last Dark Tower book, and pretty much the whole world (incl. Donald Rumsfeld) was trying to track down the killer. I was pretty sure I was in the clear, but it is sort of hard to be completely unworried about that sort of thing. So when everyone was playing in some big UO tournament at someone's house or when I was at Gina's friend Ingrid's house Super Bowl party or when I was in the middle of a blizzard at Lincoln Hall and drinking my Wisconsin Cheese juice and talking to my entomology professor (all of these in sequence, of course), the topic would come up, and I would try very hard not to be awkward. And, as soon as I woke up, I checked to make sure Mr. King was still alive. Just in case.