Last night, I had another dream about Jack…and this one wasn’t so nice. It involved him relapsing, but not before putting B. in danger and lying to me about it. And the dream ended — meaning I woke up — right after I relapsed myself. As if bad dreams about Jack two days before the three-month anniversary of his death weren’t enough, my subconscious mind has to add a drinking dream into the mix? Sometimes, I don’t like my brain so much.