The pen is mightier than my nerves

I’m at a bar or some kind of event, which eventually turns into a sort of high school reunion.  There are many faces that I haven’t seen in years.  Of course, anyone who I would want to see from high school is not there, so I am forced to hang out with people who I barely liked 10 years ago.  After a bit, I begin talking to people who wouldn’t have given me the time of day back then.  There is one girl in particular who I always thought was gay, and in my dream, I realize that I have apparently always had a crush on her.  We are all leaving now and as we exit, they are handing out updated contact information for everyone who came to the event.  Despite this, I decide that I MUST give this girl my phone number.  I have no pen or paper.  I’m frantically running around the back alley of this bar asking my former high school quasi friends for something to write on and with.  I finally gather the necessary items and lean on the trunk of a car to write my phone number.  My target is quickly escaping in the other direction.  I try to write and I can’t.  It comes out all scribbles and I soon fill the entire scrap of paper with gibberish.  I wake up.