Needles. Ugh.

Last night I dreamt that a little girl was following me around with a syringe and trying to inject various chemicals into my body at random entrance points. I remember waking up and rolling over to make sure my back was against the wall. I also remember a part of the dream in which I'm sitting on a toilet, peering through the crack in the stall at my waiting assassin. She kept trying to trick me by sending soldiers in her stead. I kicked a lot of syringes out of a lot of hands. There may have been a kicking montage. Eventually I sat her down and asked if we could be friends, then spent our dinner date making sure the waiters treated her nice lest she flip out and resume trying to get me.

Who was she? My inner child? Someone else's misplaced inner child? A representative of the Republican and/or Christian party? Did Craig leave a syringe in his bed?

I'm glad I had a talk with her instead of trying to run away. That's a new one for me. I've spent too much time running away from children with syringes. It's high time I kicked, confronted, and befriended them, in that order.