Ryan Adams syndrome.

Ryan Adams is one of my favorite artists of all time. He's also a diva who seems hell bent on whining and perpetually over-emoting. Moreover, he has admitted that it was one of his dreams to be accepted on to the football team in high school. His band, the Cardinals, are named after said team so that he may feel that, I suppose, he finally made the cut.

I know that I love this man's music, but I thought my high school sporting experiences - swimming and running - were fulfilling enough. That was until last night's dream. In this dream I found myself on the basketball court with all the old jocks from the Flint Hill school. It was me, Mike Christensen, Marlon, Colin, and the boys. We were at tryouts, and by some miracle of nature I managed to do a sweet job. I made the team.

Now I'm in bed at 8:17 am feeling like $1,000,000 because, for a number hours last night, my conscious convinced me that I was an athletic savior. I even remember getting home from this tryout and regaling my mom with stories about what it felt like to make the team; how sad. Perhaps I didn't actually accomplish what I really wanted to back in high school. Perhaps I have some Adam-sian longing as well. Very strange.