i would just like to formally reprimand my cat for waking me up in the middle of a dream where i was dating beyonce. she–my cat–likes to dash away from the litter box after she has taken a shit, which is her way of distancing herself from her filth as far as possible. this morning there happened to be a paper bag on the floor along the way–occasionally i leave paper bags on the floor so she can play in them–anyway she ran into the paper bag and it made a loud noise and woke me up, while i was in the middle of a dream wherein beyonce was my girlfriend. now, i wouldn’t describe a lot of things in my life as “soul-sucking,” but this was definitely one of them. i watched “lemonade,” i felt that shit. i’m a dumb white guy but i felt it. great art is something you feel no matter what age, gender, et cetera you are. i know a lot of it’s not for me but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something there that is for everyone. it’s like mixed nuts. i don’t like filberts but somebody does, and i still buy ’em. anyway i was like “jay z how? how could you do that to this woman?” and then i had a dream where she and me were dating and we were driving in a nice convertible with the top down and she looked over at me as her hair was whipping around in the wind, and she looked at me with this warmth in her eyes that made me feel like i was home, like no matter where i was in the world, when i was with her, i was home. then my goddamn cat ran into a paper bag and woke me up, very abruptly. it was ten minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off, too. so consider this my formal reprimand, directed at miss whiskers, for ruining a perfectly good dream.