Last night I had the worst nightmare. It was very lengthy. It was about Zizek and my mother. I will never forgive that man for destroying my sleep. Not even childhood memories of Slovenia in the 1980’s can compensate because I have never howled so much in a dream. I cried so much in that dream I expected to see my appendix splatted above on the ceiling when I woke up.

I have already a bumpy enough relationship with sleeping without Mr. Zizek occupying it. Be off! Be gone! Stick to Wall Street! I am in the one percentile for slumber. Go and bother the 99 percent who sleep well.