I'm about to brush my teeth as Beth walks through the door and asks me how I'm doing.

"Weird dream," I reply.

"Weird dream? How so?"

The rest of it comes out in garbled bits of toothbrush-speak.

"I was at this show. In a church."

Brush, brush.

"Sometime before or after I worked with Ben Kweller at a record shop. Where we flirted a lot - I know, I don't get it either - and spoke of this rocket ship we were set to travel on with a bunch of other people."

Brush, brush.

"Which was a really cool ship because as you took off, you stood on this balcony-like thing, waving to everyone as you shot into space. Slowly shot into space. And mashed potatoes were somehow involved."

Brush, brush.

"So anyway, we're all at this show. In the church. We were there, sitting on a mattress that had been placed on the floor, resting our chins against the railing of the balcony. Because we were on the balcony. And Mraz was performing. With quite the hideous hairdo. Somehow, at some point, he decided to let the band play, and next thing I know, he's sitting by us on the mattress, watching the show. He gave me a hug. A really good one, actually."

Brush, brush.

"So the show's fun. Chill. We leave, but I have to run back into church after the show. I'd lost my shoes. And I run into Jason, and this time I mean I really run right into him, inside the church, because I'm looking for my shoes. I'd been wearing my running shoes. Don't know why. Don't ask."

Brush, brush.

"I'd asked if he'd seen my sneakers, and he said no. Why? Was I looking for some shoes?"

Brush, brush.

"And I stuck out my foot, showed him my sock, and then he said 'Oh.' He'd ask around."

Brush, brush.

"And then I woke up."

Brush, brush.

"Oh, and we were somewhere in Quebec at the time. The subway signs and everything else was all in French."

I swished, spit, and washed off my toothbrush before looking up at the perfectly perplexed look on Beth's face.

She tried to come up with a thought. I spared her.

"Exactly."