"I'll admit, I'm a bad law student."

T & I spent the weekend on a getaway with my parents, at their invitation. We had a lovely fluffy bed with pillows like clouds, our modern room painted in hip colors like green and orange (ahem - our wedding colors). The trip was a four-hour drive to a mountain town crisscrossed by railroad tracks and bodies of water. There was a pool and a hot tub, state of the art exercise equipment and an enormous flat-screen t.v. In short, it was a recipe for relaxation.

This morning, say around four a.m., I woke myself up talking in my sleep. Apparently I also woke up T, who groggily asked me why I was talking about being a bad law student.

Without missing a beat, I explained: "Oh, I was just begging two of my professors not to fail me for forgetting to come to their classes all semester and bombing their finals."

Dream? Prophecy? Does it matter? For the first time, I understand why some of my classmates have no interest in seeing their grades when they're posted. I could go the rest of my life without knowing how I did this past semester. Just please, let's move past these post-finals nightmares and on with our lives, shall we?