“I’m in the delivery room, and I’m in labor. It’s not painful, but I feel — off. There’s something wrong. Also, I notice that I’m wearing roller skates. The doctor, who’s Drew Barrymore for some reason, tells me to push, and I do, and I hear the nurses kind of gasp. I ask what’s wrong, but no one will tell me, not Nurse Eve or Nurse Juliette Lewis or anybody. I push one more time, just so I can see what’s wrong with the baby, and suddenly Michael Cera comes out, fully grown and covered with afterbirth. ‘Ellen, what’s up?’ he says. ‘Wanna get a burrito after this?’ I scream, and that’s when I wake up.”
Take this kiss upon the brow! Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?