When I Need A Pick Me Up, by my friend Ryan King

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Dream Weaver

I'm pretty sure that grape juice before bedtime makes me drunk. That sugar rush effs with my mind. Because I had a WICKED dream last night, and I also slept later than usual. (and that is also a constant when I drink grape juice before bed).

I killed somebody last night in my dream. Methodically. And I brought his body to his house so I could take his clothing and steal his identity. Then his parents and siblings came home, and left out again (leaving one sib who I had to bluff and sneak the body out past). It was such a psycho headtrip.

But then again, maybe I can't blame the grape juice entirely. It also could have done with a psychochick in a fanclub who clashed with me out of the blue. Details omitted because this is not about her. She's as unpredictable as nature and there's just no remedy for it as far as I can see.

It's rather my own vulnerabilities that I regret. I keep letting people in to my defenses and every once in a while, someone kicks over an expensive vase. Charlie and the Football. You want Charlie Brown to kick Lucy's teeth out instead of trying for that ball, but every time ... he goes for the ball again. And every time, Lucy snatches it away.

First I get hurt, and then I get so freaking mad I want to bite out eyeballs. I want to light into the offender with all the venom from 35 years of frustration and repression. (This isn't to say that I am on the average a meek person. I'm definitely not that. But I bend over backwards to keep the peace between me and people). Because in essence, it seems to be about disrespect. The offending person puts their own right to be foul over my rights to be treated with respect.

Makes me so want to school the bitch. That's right, I said it. If she's old enough to act like one, she's old enough to get called one.

lol. That was petty of me. But I'll leave it there anyway. This is me. Petty sometimes.

But I'm not going to school her. Let her wallow in her rotten personality. She's got a long life of misery coming her way, and I've got nothing to do with it.

Me, I'm over it now. I murdered some dream dude instead. And laying in the bed this morning after the "deed" I was wondering if I'd ever adjust to life in prison. It took me THAT long to realize it was a dream.

1 comment:

Kimberly said...

Ah, so THAT'S what the problem was. Glad you took out your frustrations on...on...your own neurons? Hmmm...