Do you think Freud ever listened to someone describe a dream and said, "No, no, that's actually not meaningful. Let's move on."
I suppose I could say instead: I dreamed this morning that a woman at a bakery parked her car on my new shoes and when I picked them up I saw that the body of each shoe had pulled away from its sole, leather peeling and curling away, and now I'm kind of reminded of how the house landed on the witch in "Wizard of Oz" and her feet stuck out underneath. And I was angry at the woman who killed my shoes!
It's all about my mother. Or perhaps Spike.
In the shower just now I realized that I don't think I've ever heard someone call themselves a Giles/Angel shipper, or describe a great G/A story that was romance not rape, or even ask, "Why are there no good G/A stories?" And as I soaped my head I thought: Well, hey. Evidence that fans are not *totally* insane. Go, us!
Of course now that I say that. No, no--go ahead and be nutty if you want! I won't mock you. Much.