If you really want to know, I didn't really care about the color of the tiles or whether they're using lamps from Philips or not. I just wanted to pee, and that's it," he said.

So I ran down the hallway from my office door toward the bathroom, which was surprisingly long and winding, only to find the big red neon sign on the door saying "occupied" instead of, well, "bathroom". It even blinked constantly.

Now I have no idea of what's going on. Deep inside, I know that it's a bathroom in there, and that's where I've got to be!

I was an imbecile in having failed to realize how much of an imbecile I was - missing a number of simple facts during that time. I mean, I know it was at night; it was dark, and with the spotlights following my every move, the suspense was as real as any Alfred Hitchcock movie. So what the heck was I doing at the office that late? And wearing only pajamas? Those were some of the simple little things I failed to realize.

"Don't ask me about the time - that was out of the question. And didn't I tell you that some facts were missing from my point of view? My brain was numb, and there's that funny tickly feeling on both of my knees that literally blocked my common sense, forcing me to move, to break-dance, to run, to run sideways, to try and jump across the hall in a flash and to get to the faraway door as swiftly as I could, which I eventually reached."

But damn, what a big door it was. The biggest bathroom door I've ever seen in my entire life. I tried to gather all my strength and pushed it as hard as I could, to force it open. The sign said "pull" and I pulled it as hard as I possibly could. And it opened.

It opened with a bang and guess what? It was a gate, a gate to a long narrow path slicing through the steep sides of an alpine mountain. Pine trees were on the right, while the ascending snowy surfaces were vast and covered fractures of solid stone. There was nothing on the left side of the path. "This can't be happening!" I screamed. "If the storm blew me off, I'll fall!"

And I was right - this can't be happening. I stopped, trying to feel the heavy wind in my face - but nothing."

"I slowly opened my eyes, starred at the grey ceiling for a few minutes and finally decided to get my fat Doraemon pillow out of the way and wobble to the bathroom to pee."

That's my friend Botak talking - he's so skinny that if he losses another pound, he'll disappear. Which of course isn't quite the point of what he's talking about, it's just some random thing he said that I found somewhat interesting.

The other day he was Napoleon, dashing Marengo on top of European rooftops, "leading toward the big empty, chasing the void and halted at a giant football field. The world was flat and the land was as shiny as black tinted glass."

Now I knew this was just a dream, one stupid dream that started so well but ended up as a big flop. Napoleon, who somehow has always been the sole qualified representative of diminutive men's over-achievements in my mind, galloped toward a stage of the world in black and white with dark reflections and mirrors; "it's a moving masterpiece!" he blabbered.

But what beheld Napoleon's eyes was none other than a line of bathrooms, with people lining up in front of the small white doors.

Tiny 2x3-meter boxes with white doors could be seen across the horizon to eternity. About 50 people lined up in front of every door while bending their knees, making faces and buzzing like flies.

My steed rushed toward them as if moving on my whim, obliterating these people in a tense and careless movement of both front and back feet. The people scattered, screaming and crying. I was a bandit, a samurai, a guy with samurai attire, and as the people screamed in all directions, they grew smaller while I grew taller. My horse's feet snapped their bones, squished their flesh like oranges, and soon the field was empty. These little people had vanished and I was back to my previous form - the vertically challenged Napoleon.

It was a bit crazy for me how he insisted on using "eerie augmentation" for the word "short."

I woke up, and of course, started walking toward the bathroom. I got too tall and too big in the dream that even the bathroom lines started to look like small boxes on the floor. I couldn't even get off of my horse without the fear of broken legs. I was in a stationary position for a while before gradually gaining consciousness; the dream ran out of ideas.

Funny how dreams are - sometimes they're awfully familiar, life-like and glamourous, but most of the time, at least in Botak's case, they get to a point where everything is too damn predictable and as he put it: boring.

I knew that he's not even trying to be scientific - I'm sure Freud had different and much more advanced opinions about dreams that don't even consider his mumbo jumbo blah-blah-blah useless beliefs. Yet who cares? Dreams are the human-brain's highest capacity to come up with interesting stories, and telling it to ourselves like a movie.

It's like saying: "now this is a good imagination," and later getting scorned for not being able to think of such stories while awake.

"You know, you could either be one hell of a children's storyteller or a crazy poet; just write your dreams on paper," I used to say to him. He would stare at me like an idiot and say "yeah" and "right," which reminded me of a good joke about a linguistic professor who pointed out that never, ever, in any language, does a double positive form a negative.

And never did he consider these dreams serious. "Those are just stupid dreams I dreamed when I forgot to pee before sleeping," he said.

Well, I thank God he finally listened to me, as twenty years latter he found a way to smooth out his language and become a New York Time's bestselling author for children's storybooks. His latest bedtime story collection, entitled Dream Big Toilets, talks about the importance of brushing one's teeth, changing into pajamas, tidying the bed and of course peeing before sleeping and has won various prizes from the prestigious Georgia Children's Book Award to the Caldecott Honor Medal

Calvin and Yotsuba - my 11-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter- are big fans, dragging me all the way down to his book signing session at the city's biggest bookstore last Sunday despite that he frequently visits our house.

Botak's coming for a snack and I bet he's going to have lots of stupid stories to tell. I mean interesting.

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