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Wednesday, February 6  |
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Mena's musings reminded me that I'm feeling somewhat... stumpy. Had a dream over the weekend in which all my friends were having their hands and feet amputated as it was the cool thing to do. Everyone resembled Patrick from SpongeBob SquarePants, tapping around on perfect stumpy ends. Oh, and they were carrying plushies. Plushies? Lately my dreams have left me feeling rather stressed. What I really dislike are the dreams that are just this side of reality. Shadows remain through the day of events that might possibly happen. This isn't to say that I believe people are going to chop of their appendages or turn their children into lemons. There's only one dream that's pushed me into therapy. It was a few months after my mother passed away and I dreamt of her funeral: My sister and I had exhumed my step-father's body so that my parents could be buried together. They were arranged side by side in a large, hard-body brown suitcase. As Dr. Howard read the service, my mother, adorned in her flannel nightgown, sat up and began mouthing words to me that I couldn't comprehend. As I said, therapy.
Sort of this time last year? Snow penis. Just a wee bit of link rot. "You've listened to 201 songs. Are you still there?" Who knew the Awesome 80s were that awesome? Yesterday? Gorgon. |
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