Dreams of parades

I don't know whether it's the antibiotics talking, but I've been having the weirdest dreams. Last night, I dreamed that I was driving to the airport, late for a plane. All of a sudden, a green light in front of me turned red and a horse-drawn carriage went slowly past me in the intersection. Then another one went by. I looked up, and - I'm not making this up - they were carrying banners saying "A Salute To Parades That Stop Traffic." Even my dreams are being sarcastic to me now. Fortunately, I've just finished my last pill (thanks to the cephalexin-snatching mice).

My leg's at the "scrape little bits of scab off it with soap and water" stage now. Last night, one area that had been hurting when I stood up suddenly switched over to itching instead. I think that means that the two sides of the leg meat have finally decided that it's okay to start growing back together.

Addendum - Strangers I hate on the train:

1. The guy who wears a see-through camouflage tank top most mornings, so you can juuust make out his dark nipples. And he spits – not outside, on the pavement, but inside the waiting room.

2. Everyone from Fire Island who takes the train on Monday mornings. Always carrying yappy little dogs on cell phones. How a Bichon can be someone’s personal trainer, I have no idea.

This list will be continued, trust me.