I don't have the best relationship with my brother.

In my dream, I’d been comissioned by salon.com to write an article detailing my participation in … well, let’s just call it a menage a trois and leave it at that. I’m in a hotel room, laying on a bed, about to earn a paycheck by getting nasty with two hotties; I’m unbelievably pleased with myself.

Then, all of a sudden, there are no hotties in the room, and instead, I’m in bed in an unfamiliar house. Across the room from me, on a sofa, is my brother David, who’s just come into the room and is reading comic books with a penlight. I call over to him that his penlight just woke me up. He argues back that it couldn’t have, the moon outside is just as bright as his light, and flips his light on and off several times to contrast the two for me. I respond that his light really did wake me up, and ask him to shut the thing off and leave it off.

There follows a period of time where David waits a moment or two, and then switches on his light (which I see through my closed eyelids) and then I yell at him to switch it off, which he does for a moment or two. Repeat ad nauseum. Finally I roll over in bed and say, out loud, “David, shut off the fucking light!

Except David’s not there, it’s 5 a.m. and I’m in Boston, the sky’s just starting to get light, and once again, I’m sleeping incredibly poorly.

a) I never got my paid oofing session with the hotties. b) I can’t help but blame it on David, somehow.