How Did Adrian Get in the Shower?

Was reading E.K. Hunt this morning, fell asleep and proceeded to have some crazy dreams. In the first I met some Penn advisor in the library and he was condescending and surprised that I was an MLA student who worked full time. The second dream R and I were at my parents house: my grandmother was wearing a red shirt of mine and had fallen asleep in my parents bed. The house was a mess - I had left open cardboard boxes in the kitchen, and R and I had just taken a shower, except R looked more like Adrian Brody than himself and he had a bloody nose, which I tasted when I kissed him.
It's noon already and we are supposed togo to wonderfully bleary and geriatric Whiting, NJ to have dinner with R's parents for his mom's birthday. I hate going there. R's parents are very sweet people, so don't get me wrong, it's not them. It's the place. They live in a retirement "village", village 5 to be precise, a place with neat, windy little asphalt roads and small yards and no sidewalks. The houses are all pretty much the same, which isn't unusual anymore, and they all have a 70's paint scheme and styling. What really gets me about the place is how quiet it is, and seeing the old people walking around those windy streets so slowly with their canes or in their scooters. I get this knot of desperation in my chest thinking that I may some day end up in a place like this: old with limited mobility, and even worse, with nothing to do.
Yesterday's run around the river was amazing. It was a beautiful day - around 70 degrees, sun shining. I had missed how good it feels to run outdoors, especially when its warm out. I didn't want to stop being that my leg wasn't cranky at all, but R was waiting for me to finish so I reeled it in at about 1 hr 20 min.
Crap its really getting late. Time to shower and make myself look respectable, and just count the hours before Monday and another exciting round of microarrays begin.