Yesterday

For most of my life I severely and drastically misunderstood the lyrics of the Beatles' song "Yesterday". You know the part where Paul says "Why she had to go, I don't know, she wouldn't say. I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday"? Well, instead of the correct interpretation, where he says something wrong, I thought he meant he said "something wrong?" and she left him in a passive-aggressive fit of pique, because surely he should already know what was wrong. My version of this song seemed to speak deeply on the troubles of man/woman interaction, how signals are missed to tragic consequence, and how love is a great mystery. Imagine my humiliation when, like a bolt out of the blue, it occurred to me one day that I was making all that up.
Well, at least it wasn't like the first time I tried to sing Blinded by the Light.

And for another peek into the inner workings of my frail and mysterious psyche:

Yesterday night, when I was trying to get to sleep, I had one of those bizarre rage episodes. You know the ones, where you are half asleep but still beyond livid with something, filled with a consuming rage that makes it impossible to function? (Please say you know what I'm talking about, or at least nod soothingly.) This one was centred around a waking dream where there were too many pillows on my bed. Seriously, that's it. I just hated those GODDAMN FRAKKING PILLOWS JUST DIE ALREADY WHY ARE THERE SO MANY STUPID PILLOWS?
I, of course, eventually calmed when I woke enough to realise that I was sharing a bed with just the regular amount, and they were not conspiring to suffocate me.

I'd say it was brought on by being doped up on flu meds, but I don't have any. (In the house, I mean. But right now I'd kill for some. Damn you, bronchitis or whatever!)

Goodnight, my wonderfuls, and may your dreams be happy and pillow-free.