Dear Subconscious,

While all of us here in Ursula’s brain appreciate your nightly dream theatre, we wish to register a complaint re: last night. The plot wasn’t bad. We were impressed. The bit where we were holding that one chick hostage and she wrote the notes pointing to our secret lair by hiding them in the printer test sheets–that was pretty cool. We are not entirely sure why we were an elderly anthropomorphic ram at the time, but we were willing to roll with it, particularly since we got to be our normal self later, and also to drive a very cool car.

And that other bit, later? That was hot, yes. All of us agree that yes, that was pretty smokin’.

However, we must object to the fact that that particular bit was placed on top of a prickly pear thicket. Having scoured all relevant memories, we’re pretty sure you just made that up. Leaving aside the suspension of disbelief issues–the logic cortex began yelling “Oh, COME ON!” and throwing popcorn at the screen, and had to be wrestled to the ground by the superego–it lent a certain Dr. Seussian vibe to the whole encounter and we here in the brain are in complete agreement that there are times when we really don’t want to be thinking of Dr. Seuss. It is difficult to sustain a moment of passion at the best of times, and made notably more difficult when you are vaguely thinking “Was this from “Oh, the Places You’ll Go?” or the one with the sneeches…?”

Trusting that you will take this under advisement in the future.

Sincerely,

The Rest of the Brain