I meant to post this earlier today (right after my comment), but the crappy library computer timed out.
Below is the description I wrote of two dreams that I had last night, written around 3am this morning. [Any notes in these]
1) On top of some kind of bus (I guess it was supposed to be like a tour (taking, not rock tour) bus but there were no seats on top (and it was shaped like a normal bus).[)]*
[Drawing of a cane]
The guy who killed me was based on this guy I saw on the bus the other day who stood by the driver, talking to her. He had a McDonald's drink with him, one of the plastic ones. At some point, he talks about how cold it ["it" being the drink] is. Then, he touches her arm with it. Then, her shoulder.
Then, her face. (Good thing we were at a light by then.) [Actually, it was her forehead, but that
is part of the face, and I just wanted to get it all down so I'd remember it, and secondarily so I could go back to sleep.]
Anyway, instead of a drink, this time he has two canes, and is sitting in front of me. After he gets done pissing somebody off in front of him, he starts to move to sit next to me. He said something like "I've got another white person here" (he was white too, for context*)
Then he starts getting way closer to me than the available space required, which generally pisses me off (besides, in the dream I remember him as the guy from the bus incident, so I already know to treat him like a crazy asshole).
I threaten to kill the guy and then grab one of his canes, both done after he hits me with it. I gradually pull the cane away, until I get to the marked part on the diagram above [about the place where it starts curving], at which point he said something like "You shouldn't have touched the symbol," drops the cane, produces a knife, and starts stabbing the shit out of me. [Arrow here, because I was at the end of the page. (Yes, I use these)]
At that point everything went white, and I felt more disembodied than is usual in a dream. I'm not sure if I was just hunched over or collapsed; or even if he'd stopped stabbing me. I will myself to do something, at which I tackle the son of a bitch off the top of the bus (I didn't actually see much after the whitening, just "felt" it). At that point, the dream ends.
[Well, that dream sequence does.]
2) I'm not sure if 1 was a dream-in-a-dream for this one or not, but I wake up in some kind of house, in some kind of room, in some kind of bed. [It's dark, too, but I can see, which is normal.] I find that I'm not able to move (or maybe I just didn't want to yet). Some fat lady walks by, who I apparently felt was not supposed to be there, but I couldn't move my body to react to her. She gives me a look like I shouldn't be worried about her and walks out of the dream. [You know how that works. They leave and they don't come back.] I then see my grandmother come out of one room into mine, then through to another. While she walks through, I try to get her attention, but apparently I've been stabbed in the throat or something like that. All I can do is gurgle (and not even loudly) and wave a couple of my fingers.
Did 2 represent waking up from 1 (after lethal stabbing)? Was the fat lady out of place (like a lot of crap in dreams), or was she supposed to represent something, like either people not caring if I were stabbed to death, or that I should worry about myself and not other people?
*most outwardly crazy people are [by number or by percentage or by ratio of crazy to population percentage]
[End]
The * above was a note in the margin of the notebook page, but that doesn't translate well in a medium like this.
What else to say...I imagine I had these dreams because of the anxiety I was feeling after what happened yesterday. Like most things, they can't really hurt me, they can only make me hurt myself, usually through some avoidance action (like the sleep I was going to avoid before I wrote all of it down). I tried some "micro-dreaming"* to see what my next dream would be like if I went back to sleep, and I was in an auction house (presumably a black or underground one) where they were auctioning off my cut-up body parts. That wasn't too encouraging, but I ended up going back to sleep anyway. Don't remember any dreams from that 5-6 hours (I got to sleep in because my 10:00 class was cancelled today).
Oh, I should also mention that I feel 23% better than I did yesterday. Most people would say 100% instead of 23% but my methods of measurement are more exacting.
That is all.**
*My term for it; I'm still awake but I start a vague dream sequence. It's like daydreaming but with actual visual (and sometimes aural) sensory data.
**Last thing I wrote, even if there was stuff after it. So technically, it was true as I wrote it.***
***Also not counting this, or this.****
****The first this refers to the object of the ***, the second to the note itself. Oh, and don't count this either.
Today was a good day.
Today was also a pretty bad day.
Contradiction?
False dichotomy?
Me being vague on purpose, like an asshole?
No.* It's the result of a little cut in spacetime. Before noon today was going pretty well. I was tired, but that happens when one is sleep deprived; that in itself is nothing new.
Later on in the day though, I apparently encountered yet another memento artifact, which activated the self-poisoning processes in me (I keep those because I'm certain that they will be of use one day [maybe due to possession, or a body swap]).
I hate those damn things, that's why I try to avoid them.
The only problem is when they become so numerous that they can't be avoided completely.
When that happens, I have to kill off the part of myself that is so affected and bury it in the backyard. There are three such parts now.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
*Though I'd bet on the last one myself, personally.
I haven't posted in a while. I was trying to wait until they tore the tree down for good (so I could have "before and after" shots), but they've decided to leave it up with half of its roots gutted out for the last...some number of days.
That makes the tree more like me than I initially thought.
Luckily for me, there is at least one difference between me and the tree: The people who are out to get me don't have enough powered weaponry to take me out.
Plus, I can't die permanently.
Sorry about the resolution; I was going to make them thumbnails instead but I'm too lazy.
In more egocentric news (if there can be such a thing), I shaved yesterday, for the first time in weeks. Makes me look a year or two younger.
...my face, you bastards.
Is it worth it? Gaining abilities only to lose them shortly thereafter. Maybe it is. Maybe it's like that story where the guy started with sand (I think it was sand, either that or something equally worthless in most situations), traded it for something, which he traded for something, which he traded for something, and so on, until he traded something really valuable (in most situations) for sand.
Is he really any worse off? I would say no. Even though he ended up trading the valuable item for sand, sand is what he started with in the first place. He got to be on top of the world for a while; even if he had to go back to normal afterward, the memory of his time as an important man is still there.
And that's the difference between a point and a circle.
With a little reflection on the inane rambling above (which I typed at around 1-2am last night), I have gleaned another lesson from it. The guy from the story could end up on top again, if he just finds enough gullible, foolish, loyal to a fault, and/or idiotic people to get him there.
Extrapolating, this should be possible for anyone.
Oh, and while I remember: Happy 9-11 day, everyone. Personally I think 9-11 should be celebrated (if at all) on the second [day of the week it happened in 2001, too lazy to check] of September. That's part of the reason I wanted to celebrate my birthday on Saturday instead of on the 7th. The rest I can't say, I've already said too much.
Today passed slowly, perhaps because I didn't go anywhere for the first time in...about 3 months. Damn.
Either way, part of my time today was spent moving our refrigerator from the kitchen to the dining room. Why? So it will be closer to a water line, so the automatic ice cube maker will work. Moving it meant moving the treadmill to where it was, for those who have a clue as to the former layout of the rooms.
One additional bonus is that the good computer is right here in the dining room, so if I want something I don't even have to get up to get it. I'll still need to get up to rinse off the top of any cans that I use, though. (Legacy code, I started doing that to avoid the inevitable dirt/whatever that always finds its way to the top of the can, which goes down into the drink. It became more prevalent when running away from toilets after flushing them started phasing out.)
Nothing of real value to report, but when there is, I usually wouldn't say it anyway.
Classes are all easy as hell.
Easier, even.
Still waiting for some new tragedy.
Also still attempting to hang onto my current existence, sometimes through less scrupulous means than I would have accepted in the past.
Principles are always the first thing to go. That, and hearing. And memory. And...ah, never mind.
