Why won't you leave my dreams?!

So last night, I dreamed of you. Again. Really, why is my brain so fixated on dreaming about you? Are there meds I can take for that? It's really worrying; I don't want to be dreaming about you any more than you'd want to know I've been dreaming about you. It went like this:

Me: Where are we going? My feet hurt and you're taking me on a wild goose chase. So not okay!
You: Calm down already, would you? We're going to picnic. Is that a foreign concept?
Me (slapping your arm): No. You're a jackass, you know that?
You: Yep. You've told me that more than one time, I believe.
Me: Hmmph! And yet it hasn't sunk in yet. I think Meghan should now about this.
You (alarmed): Meghan?! Oh hell no! You do that...you do that and I'll--I'll do something bad!
Me: Wow. Really threatening, Brian. Seriously, I'm terrified.
You: Oh, shut up, why don't you?
Me: Jesus! A bit touchy today, aren't we?
You: You think THIS is touchy? Trust me, you don't want to see me when I actually am touchy. It's a nightmare.
Me: Funny, that's not hard to imagine.
You: Screw you.
Me: Nice insult. Try again?
You (ignoring me): Aha! See that gazebo up ahead? We're picnicking there. Go ahead, the steps aren't going to bite you. They only get hungry once in a while...I'm pretty sure their blood thirsty appetites are satisfied...for the moment, at least.
Me: Fuck you!
You: Thank you, Katie. I really appreciate that.
Me: You're not welcome. Ever.
You: Okay, then. At least you're being honest.
Me: Damn straight! You're the only one who acknowledges me giving you shit but yet doesn't care.
You: Don't you ever wonder why?
Me: No. I'm afraid of the answer.
You: It's not bad.
Me (reluctantly): Are you...are you sure?
You: Yep.
Me (sighing): Okay, fine. Why?
You: Because I know even if I did care you wouldn't change...you're stubborn like that.
Me: You didn't JUST notice, did you?
You: Would it matter?
Me: No. Probably not.
You: Yeah. That's what I thought.
Me: Smart ass.
You: You got it--that's my middle name.
Me (snorting): Right. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.
You: But it does, doesn't it?
Me: Mmm. It does--if only it was your middle name on your birth certificate.
You: Unfortunately, my parents didn't know they were giving birth to a smart ass until I turned four years old.
Me (shuddering): Yikes! What a nightmare.
You: Yeah. They hated me.
Me: I can see why.
You: Nice, Katie. Good to see you care.
Me: You know it!