Please bookmark the correct page at http://suzannadanna.net/ Princess of Irony

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

Issue Date: Thursday, Aug. 12, 2004

Hi.

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.

Ugh.

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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