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2003-03-08 | 2:16 p.m.

I am going to see a neurologist on Monday, so this morning I dreamed that I had become some version of the Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.

First I revisited a furniture store I hadn�t been to in months and found a whole stash of our overdue library books under a bed there. We had things in the drawers of the nightstand, too. I gathered everything up sheepishly.

At home, it was as if I had awoken from a nap and found that weeks had passed. I looked in the mirror and was shocked to discover that I now had a shag haircut and bleached-blonde hair. I got mad and started accusing Felony of bleaching my hair while I slept. She seemed baffled. �No, you had it done at the hair salon!� she insisted. �Don�t you remember, it took four separate processes to get your hair blonde?�

Then I went outside and found Duff lying in the backyard, almost entirely submerged in a mud puddle, except for his eyes, nose, and mouth. �What are you doing out here?� I shrieked. �You kicked me out,� he said.

I could remember doing no such thing. But then I ran into my sister and my Mom, and they said I had kicked them out, too.

As time wore on, it became apparent that whatever I thought I was doing was different from what I was actually doing at least half the time. I learned to ask for verbal confirmation whenever I did something, to make sure I had done it right and not nonsensically. But it wasn�t just me�there were lots of other people who had the same problem, including Mariah Carey. She asked me if her outfit was okay and I said yes. I knew it wasn�t as glamorous as she would have worn previously, but at least she had all the pieces of clothing on the correct body parts. At least, I thought she did. The way this mutant neurological disorder worked, I might see �high heels� when what she was really wearing was a cereal box or kittens. I sidled over to an acquaintance and asked, �Is she wearing a pink sweater, teal miniskirt, high-heel shoes, and crew socks?� They said yes, she was.

Phew.

An hour after I woke up, I felt like I still had the condition. To have such a thing actually happen would mean being upset for life.

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