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I’ve been Googling (like a mad bastard).

Issue Date: Thursday, Aug. 12, 2004


Yes, you… Hi there. How you doin?

Fine? Good.

Me? Um, I am a big bucket of crazy thanksforaskin.

In the past several days I have lost a lot of sleep due to… oh, I don’t know… my sunburn was one reason, I believe. Other reasons may include that I have been dreaming about all sorts of cracked out shit. And another reason may be that I am slipping back into a phase of insomnia. Let’s hope and pray that the latter is not the case.

Let’s talk about the dreams. [As you scream a silent, “Nooooooooooooo!” in your head.] I have told you good people about several of my dreams, yes, I’m sorry, but we are going to go down that road again.

I’ve told you about Science Camp.

I’ve told you about John Cleese’s nipple, and, I have even had the bad taste to tell you guys about humping James Van Der Beek. [Same link, … incidentally. Heh.] As well as many, many others.

The dreams that have been plaguing me lately all have to do with men in my past, yes, yes… just like that stupid dream about Kim and Neal (Neal, is his real name… the moniker “Gomer” is too… gay. Or maybe, it is just too nice.). But as opposed to the dreams being mildly irritating or just plain retarded, the ones I have been having lately have been more along the lines of night terrors.

Monday morning I awoke with a start, clutching at my throat like I was some old woman who was “pearl clutching” after hearing that her oldest nephew was indeed a gay porn star and squandering his inheritance on ass-less leather pants and pasties.

In the dream I had just come home from work. I walked in through the garage, like always, and put my purse on the kitchen table. I turned around to go into Mister’s office to give him a hello kiss. When I looked up Marcus was standing there without a shirt on. I knew it was him, even in the gloom, because I could see the scar from where he had his spleen removed (motorcycle accident) glowing in the semi-darkness. He pulled back his lips from his teeth in this rictus snarl and moved his right arm from the right side of my body to my left in a very quick jerky motion. It took me a second to realize that he had just cut my throat from ear to ear. As soon as I felt the warmth of my own blood flowing down my shirt… I woke up.

I sat bolt upright and gasped for air, feeling to make sure my throat had not been cut.

Creepy shit huh?

So, yeah… I’ve been Googling (like a mad bastard) Marcus’s full name trying to find out where he is, and if I am, indeed, in danger of having my throat slit. His old address was where I paid for his apartment down payment to get him the fresh hell out of my apartment back in 2000(?). But I found another address that was closer to where Mister and I moved when we first got married. Ick.

Or what about this one. This morning I woke up out of breath and wiping the sheets like I was brushing something off the bed. I was just dreaming about being in Nacogdoches. Most of you know that I was previously married to X, we lived in a double wide, 1976 Redman trailer. In the middle of 650 acres in east Texas. Piney woods. Bugs. Particleboard flooring… trailer. DOUBLE WIDE! *shudder*

Anyway, east Texas is a lush area. There is much rain, much humidity, much red clay and many, many bugs.

Like this one.


So, yeah, nasty. I battled bugs in the house for the entire 5 or 6 years I lived there. We had so much rain, the floors were so crappy, and the house was so freakin old that I had mold, YES… MOLD! growing on the soles of my favorite pair of boots.

I my dream last night, I was in the guest bathroom shower in that trailer, but I was in there hiding from a flying cockroach the size of a schnauzer. That thing was absolutely yooge! It slipped into the shower with me by crawling up the opaque shower curtain liner, I could see the progress it was making by its’ outline. It was so big that the shower rod bent a little.

I figured that I could wait until it got almost into the shower with me then I would throw back the curtain and run into the master bedroom.

I waited and waited, then sprung! And like in most dreams, you don’t move as fast as you think you can. Almost like you are moving through Jell-O. I slowly and with much grunting flung myself out of the shower, knocking the big roach unconscious and to the floor in the process. To the floor I had to cross over to get to the master bedroom. And of course when I stepped over the blasted thing, it regained consciousness and flew upwards, narrowly missing getting caught in my curly hair.

Geeeeeeeesh… [all over body shudder].

Mind you, the whole fuckin time I am going through this hell, I am yelling at the top of my lungs for X.

“X! Help!.. Shit! X!!!!! HELP ME! This thing has the wingspan of a KITE for God’s Sake!”

All I heard was some blasted John Wayne rerun coming from the master bedroom television.

That bastard wouldn’t help me at all.

I got to the master bedroom door and it was locked. X, that lazy fucker. I climbed a ladder and looked over the kitchen ceiling to see where I could hide. ??? The ceiling? I don’t know either.

That’s when it came at me, wings a flappin. It hit me in the chest and knocked me off of the ladder.

That is when I woke up.

I’d rather be dreaming about sex or something normal.

What do you guys dream about?


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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