July 25, 2002 | 10:17 AM

I was having a nightmare about fire. And books burning. And funerals. The dream was silent save for the constant unwavering wail of a siren that bleeped and whirred its flat line symphony to accompany the destruction and ruin.

And then I realized the siren was real.

It was my alarm. And it had been going off for over an hour.

I rolled out of bed and threw on a bra and a dress and shoes. I brushed my teeth and rolled a thick layer of deodorant over my stubly arm pits. Instead of combing my hair, I tied it back in a tight bun.

Mouth wash. Body lotion. Desperate swigs of Diet Pepsi.

I ran out the door.

I asked myself aloud as I stumbled toward the bus stop,

Why do I feel like a tractor rolled over my skull?

And then I remembered.

Oh yeah�I stayed up until 3:00 AM drinking beer.

I don�t even really like beer that much.

Gee Anna, why did you do it, then?

Well, there are a couple of reasons.

The first reason is that I wanted to celebrate with John and Jenn the acquisition of their new apartment.

And the second is that I am just plain stupid.

The evening began well. The three of us were in high spirits. I listened to John and Jenn discuss their new abode and moving arrangements and so forth.

And they listened to me talk about mine.

And then John and I played music together, which we hadn�t done since our last show. And we changed things up by switching the vocal parts of all our songs. So I sang lead on Somerville and John sang lead on Newberry Street and though it started as a light hearted exercise, it was actually a metaphysical Freaky Friday moment where I saw the immediate world of each song from his point of view. Being privy to a new perspective on our own creativity and reaching a greater level of empathy for John was illuminating and awakening and all kinds of other adjectives for wonderful.

And then Jenn went to bed. And it was just John and I alone drinking together.

And things got strange and hazy and hurtful.

I don�t remember a lot.

I remember opening my 11th(?) Magic Hat #9 and saying,

When we leave this apartment, I think it would be a great idea for us to spend some significant time away from each other. I think we both really need that.

And John opened his 12th(?) Amstel light and nodded in a agreement.

I definitely agree with that. I think that would be really good for both of us

And I smiled and said,

At this point I want to feel like we have ascended to some different space in terms of relating to one another. I want to not have all of these hurt feelings and anger. I want to be open to whatever occurs naturally between us, whether it�s nothing and this is the end or we just become casual acquaintances or really close friends, or... or... something else...

And that�s where things went wrong.

John snorted into his beer and shook his head vehemently no. And he said,

No dude, never again.

Meaning, I will never date you/have sex with you/be romantically involved with you ever again.

And having made that statement myself so many times in regards to him, I don�t know what it was that stung me so much. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the way he shuddered at the thought.

It was a dagger in my heart.

Which I in turn pulled from myself and stabbed in his back several times.

Subtle. Snide little nasty comments from the wounded peanut gallery. And every time I made them I hated me for being so small and mean. And I asked myself,

Why am I saying this? Why am I being so scathing and nasty?

I swear to God, Sam Coombs has nothing on me when I�ve got my snarl on. You wouldn�t know it unless you�ve hurt me or I feel threatened by you, but I can be mercilessly cruel. And I was.

I don�t remember what I said. I just remember how it felt to say it. And it felt raw and rotten and low and ill.