This week has been slightly weird for me.
On Tuesday I kept having a feeling of deja vu: before I left my house, in my car, at work, and when I got back home. It was very peculiar. And the familiar feeling was not about anything big; just a bunch of little stuff.
Now this morning I find myself waking up quoting, (err maybe it qualifies as chanting?) the last two stanzas of Robert Burns' poem "Coming Through the Rye". What?
I don't know what I was dreaming about - but I guess something literary. The last time I read that poem was in high school. I wish I could remember what I was dreaming about because I sure am interested.
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