For quite some time I've had a nice little trick up my pyjama sleeve. My subconscious has been trained by years of therapy to respond to any troubling situation with a rational analysis of the dangers involved. And so, whenever I dream that I am in high school and don't have my final paper to hand in, or when I am hopelessly late and understudied for a college exam, I immediately think to myself, "Hey, wait. You have a high school diploma. You have a BA. Clearly, nothing bad's gonna happen if you fuck up whatever this is, so why not relax and watch some tv. Heck, even if it somehow caused you to lose your BA or high school diploma, you can always say you graduated - it's not like anyone checks this stuff." Many of my scary dorm room nightmares have been turned into sessions of sitting back and chatting with others about classes or trying to figure out how to set up the television for maximum audio and video quality.

Unfortunately, my brain has no such rational response for falling asleep at the wheel of a car after fucking a friend's wife whose body turned into a giant latex balloon engorged with sea water and constantly expanding, like Mr. Creosote from Monty Python's Meaning of Life. I'll have to think this one over....