I suppose.

I guess if Catherine can let me go off for a wild night in Palo Alto by myself, I can let her go to Chicago without me. I don't have to be happy about it, though. How immature is it that I'm about to spend the next 48 hours fretting about this? I'm sure Garry and Amanda are perfectly safe drivers, and I'm sure they'll all come home just fine on Sunday. I'm sure. I am.

Catherine and I have been having parallel anxiety dreams. She dreams that she's being forced to marry some guy she's never even met. She doesn't want to, and when she gets to the altar, all these men are standing there and she doesn't even know which one she has to marry. When she wakes up, all she wants to do is hold on to me. I dream that I've somehow been offered up to someone else for the weekend, and I don't want to be there. I want to go home, but I can't because there's an electrical storm and it's raining and then the cats get out and are running back and forth across the street in the traffic and I don't want to see them get run over and I have to get home but I can't. And I wake up, and all I want to do is hold on to Catherine.

Damn. I hate having to go to sleep.