I was dreaming about something important, earth-shakingly important. I couldn’t actually remember anything about the dream, of course; all I knew was that it was, at the time, the most important thing in my entire life.

Last night’s study session had gone on too long (and had involved very little studying). I hadn’t gotten to bed until four in the morning, and I had class at eight. So I was still half-asleep as I got dressed, grabbed a cold slice of pizza for breakfast, and stumbled out the door.

“Look,” I overheard someone say, “the cat’s up a tree.” I don’t know why, out of all the conversations going on around me, I picked up that particular sentence. Something in my sleep-addled brain latched on to it, though, like when you hear your name.

I tried to pay attention to Intro to Economics. It’s difficult to do even with a good night’s sleep though. It wasn’t helping that the idiots behind me kept talking about cars.

“My dad gave me his old truck,” one said, “It’s not bad, but I’d love to get something more sporty.”

“What kind of truck?” his friend asked.

“Dodge Ram.” The name triggered something in my head. Something from the dream last night. Did it involve a truck? I couldn’t remember.

I managed to not fall asleep for the rest of class, and figured I should head to the food court. Some hot coffee and something to eat might help me actually wake up.

I was crossing the quad when my phone buzzed with a text. It was from my roommate Eddie.

Hot dog! Aced the test!

He was still partying when I went to bed. How on Earth did he manage to ace anything on two hours of sleep? Just thinking that made me think about my dream again. How could I not remember something that seemed so important?

No one says hot dog anymore, I texted back, and continued on my way.

With coffee in hand, I went to the condiment area to make it drinkable. I don’t do black coffee. I don’t need a carmel-frappe-mocha-cappuccino or anything like that, just a little cream and sugar.

“Sup?” said another groggy-eyed student as he grabbed a packet of ketchup for his hotdog. Suddenly, things clicked in to place.

Catsup. Hot dog. Dodge!

I jumped to the side, just as a burst of ketchup went shooting from the package.

“Woah!” the other guy said. “Sorry about that.”

I just stared in disbelief at the pool of ketchup on the floor. This is what my dream had been warning me about? This was what was earth-shakingly important. I was still staring when something cold and wet hit me in the back.

I turned to see a young woman holding a mustard packet.

“I’m so sorry!”

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