So last night I was super stressed out. I had two guests back out at the last minute, which set in motion a ridiculously complicated chain of events that necessitated shifting tables and redoing 30 place cards. Not that you care.
But anyway, it was midnight and I was wired with anxiety, so I took a Xanax, hoping it would help me sleep. Well.
I not only slept through my alarm (OK, in all honesty I turned it off, but I don't remember doing it), but I had a series of horrific dreams that all involved me being hunted by crazed killers weilding guns, knives, and blowtorches. One of the killers was, inexplicably (but hotly) Chris Noth. At one point someone poured gasoline on me and lit me on fire as I bounced on a trampoline.
I'm no psychologist, but that can't mean anything good. So goodbye, Xanax. Apparently you try to kill me in my sleep.