Saturday night I dreamed there was a war going on in the neighbourhood where I grew up. No one knew who they were or why we were being attacked but we all knew that we had to fight back or die. Running for cover I was being fired upon and chased by a couple of assailants and I was wounded in the leg. Then I dreamed I crouched down and took out a handgun and, aiming very carefully, shot both of my enemies in the head.

“It’s because you’re battling a cold” was offered as an analysis of my dream. And this makes sense; what I didn’t mention is that when I shot the two guys, the bullets flew towards their faces, then stopped dead right in front in them for a moment before flying up their noses and causing instant death. So I thought, maybe it’s telling me I should stick an echinacea capsule in each of my nostrils and see if that helps. I’m trying it right now. It feels kind of funny.

War is the second most common theme of my dreams, after explicit sex.

And after all these nighttime fantasies of mayhem and murder, I called up my mom to wish her a happy Mother’s Day… because that’s the kind of guy I am.

MOM: So how are things going, dear? Any new acquaintances?
ME: …Acquaintances?
MOM: You know, any new love interests?
ME: Ahh, mom… I’m pretty much a confirmed bachelor.
MOM: That’s what everyone thinks, until they meet the right person.
ME: Well, then I guess that’s what I’ll continue to believe.