I am flipping through channels. I stop on a Ween cartoon. There are lyrics on the screen. The words darken, as though it’s karaoke, as someone off screen sings the cartoon:

Thank you, thank you, for last week watching Ween

Even though all of you are from Philly or Eugene

I visit Niki and Mark, who have three-month-old baby. It's the first time I've seen the baby -- he's the size of a 5 year old. He has a bowl haircut.

Niki says, in a frustrated way, "I don't know why he's so big. Patrice got a girl." Niki walks into the other room.

Mark picks up his baby, and mentions, "It's weird, you know, 'cause he's still a three-month-old boy, but since he looks like a 5 year old, I expect him to talk and, in gereal, act older."

Patrice shows up. She's happy. She holds a baby girl, still an infant, wrapped in a pink blanket, wearing a tiny winter cap. Niki whispers in my ear, "And her baby's older than our son!"

Mom and I decide to go to Santa Monica. She's never been.

We're there.

Santa Monica is a golf course on a movie set. Not a movie set in the sense of behind-the-scenes wires and camera men and wooden planks propping up props; it's a movie set in that anything can happen.

Brad Pitt is shirtless and playing golf with RZA and four bodyguards. They're only a few yards from where Mom and I are standing. There is an extension chord coming out of my ass. The chord runs the length of the small island of Santa Monica, and it is exactly in the way of RZA and Brad's golf game.

They say to each other, "Just play through," as though my ass-chord is a sandtrap they are forced to navigate. I don't hear them say this, and thinking I am doing them a favor, I lift the chord just as RZA putts to the hole. He misses.

Brad is happy. RZA is pissed.

Something about RZA's black and white jeans scares me. I run 40 yards to the other side of Santa Monica, where the waves are crashing on both sides of the island. I see a man in a rain slicker, fighting the elements. He yells to me, "Don't stay here! The weather's like Pittsburgh!" And I run back.

Robin Quivers is giving me boob-job advice. She says that after losing a lot of weight, she needed to get implants. I need them, too.

She cautions about getting a "good" job done. She tells me if I get a shoddy boob job, my boobs will look more like Oreos.

And that's what happens. My boob job turns out poorly.

I am so embarassed by the results that I run away to my safe haven, which happens to be the Philadelphia Real World house. No one has moved in yet. I have a key. I sit on the second floor of the empty house.

As I leave, I notice someone has opened the door to the first floor. It's filled with office chairs. This scares me and I run out of the front door, get on my bike, and ride at a quick clip through a traffic tunnel.

There is a median in the tunnel and there are flea market tables set up on it. The very last table is blocking the tunnel exit. Two girls are talking on their cell phones and not paying attention to me. I'm riding my bike too fast to stop quick enough. I crash into their table. I am unharmed but I am pissed off.

I haven't been remembering my dreams. Those I remember are in little bits.

The end of the world is coming, but in a way we never expected. It was not zombie-ish or bloody. States explode cleanly, and break off at their distinct borders, like a perforated coupon.

I know that most of the US is gone -- all the fly-over states are history, except Michigan. California, New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania remain.

Jon and I are at my parents' old house, the house I grew up in, with a man I don't know. He is a scientist. We are standing in the driveway when the scientist tells me to look through his telescope. I can see California in it, and as I watch, California explodes with two pond-ripple blasts.

Only I see this. Only I know we're next.

Jon and the scientist are talking. I can feel myself being pulled up into the air by some awful force and I say, "Jon, I love you!" but he's not paying attention. I say, "Jon, I love you!" again and he hears me and I feel good about it all.

We take the bridge to the shore that we always take in my dreams, the one that doesn't exist. It's quicker.

We're looking for a place to stay for the summer. Amy's there. She says she wants to put a deposit on a house and points to the house. It's four floors and on stilts.

I ask Amy, "Is the whole place ours?"

She says, "No, Just the second and fourth floors."

I ask, "How can that be? How can we have the second and fourth floors?" and she starts to get angry. I tell her to pipe down; I'm just curious how that can possibly be. But we decide to see for ourselves.

I enter the house and see it's almost empty. There are a few red, Tootsie Roll-like cushions on the ground. I am getting woozy because the house is on a tilt. I feel like I am going to slide out of the living room and on to the deck, right off the side of the house.

I can't live like this all summer. I'll suffer vertigo.

This is one of those dreams that happens between slaps of the snooze button, yet it seemed so much longer.

I am at a bowling alley. I think it's a work function of some sort, but Todd's there. I don't recognize anyone else but they're all familiar in their facelessness.

Todd, being playful, grabs me by the ankles and starts dragging me across all the bowling lanes. The ground is shiny and slick and I glide across the floor effortlessly.

I'm laughing so hard, I try to tell him to stop but I can't get the words out of my mouth. I tell him, "I'm the only drunk one here!"

Now I am at the bowling alley's shoe counter. I'm no longer laughing. The girl behind the counter, who is in actuality a slag that works in my office buidling, is working at the counter. She asks my shoe size. I say, "One 6 and a half, the other 4 and three-sevenths."

She says, "That's very common," and hands me my shoes.

Then, as though I axed, she starts tell me her story. "I used to come here all the time in high school and now I work here. I never left this place. I've been in my hometown my whole life. I used to get Andy Capp Hot Fries from that same vending machine. I spent a lot of time in here when I was in high school and I don't regret it at all. A lot of time."