P-p-p-presidents!
Happy President’s Day, people! If I weren’t so lazy, I’d give you all a ranking of the presidents, but hey…I’m lazy. So a big shout out to my man, Millard Fillmore.
Why isn’t President’s Day on your birthday?
Oh, and then there’s this…wow…okay…I think this is proof I’ve been watching way too much Boston Legal lately…
I had a dream last night that William Shatner and I got married. In a green church. With us both wearing green. It was like some sort of St. Patrick’s Day Wedding of Sex, or something.
But the strange thing is, I kind of liked it.
Do I have a problem?
Freudian Sleep
Ohhhhhh man…I think my unconscious is telling me something…
So last night I had this really whacked-out (yet freakishly realistic-feeling) dream about Freud. I’ll try to describe it for you:
I’m in this really purple room—I mean, EVERYTHING’S purple. I’m sitting on a purple bed all alone, when suddenly I feel this breathing down the back of my neck. I start thinking, “now I’ll get an A,” and I turn around and good ol’ Sigmund’s there, sitting on the purple bed with me. The following dialogue takes place (is it sad that I remember this verbatim?):
I go, “Hey.”
He goes, “Welcome to the subconscious.”
“It’s everything I thought it would be.”
“I am Dr. Sigmund Freud. I hear you’re reading my book.” (which I am in real life).
“Yes. I am fascinated by your theories on dreams and your methods of dream analysis.”
“Would you like to know the secret of the human mind?”
“Yes.”
And then he starts going on about how purple is the color of sexual desire and how purple has no rhyme for the same reason nothing compares to sex. I’m thinking this whole time that I’d better write this stuff down, but I don’t have time to look for a pencil and paper while he’s talking, so I don’t do anything. I don’t remember this little speech word-for-word, but when it was over, we said this:\
Me: “You are a genius.”
Freud: “You have been enlightened. Now will you do a favor for me?”
(I nod.)
Freud: “Do you have complete confidence in me?”
“Yes.”
“Show me your id.”
So apparently, showing someone your id involves taking off your clothes, because I strip naked and stand completely bare in front of the father of psychoanalysis. I think I was laughing, too.
“Turn around,” he says.
“Yes.” I follow his command.
Then I hear this freaky whispering sound—it wasn’t really whispering, but it was kinda like it—so I turn around cause I’m getting cold and no one is there. I remember being scared at this point—I mean, REALLY scared—and I start asking, “Freud? Freud? Sigmund?” And then start screaming “SIGMUND!” in a way not unlike Stanley’s “STELLA!” In “Streetcar Named Desire.” And then I woke up.
What the hell does this mean? Am I supposed to know, since I think I was being psychoanalyzed DURING the dream? Why is it that I repeat the word “yes” four times? Oh, and I forgot to mention that the whole dream played out as if it were shot with a wide-angle lens. Hm.
Ah, well. At least Freud and I didn’t get it on.
I think.
I Fantasize of Fillmore
(The title is a total rip-off of “I Dream of Jeannie”, but who cares, eh?)
Holy crap! He’s invading my flippin’ dreams now! It must be a happy little pay-off to the week dedicated to him. However, it was one weird dream…
So Maggie and I (yes, Maggie, you were in this dream as well) were walking around in this half-collapsed house in the dead of winter. On the upper floor, there’s this random guy who appears to have just strangled his wife or something. We take note of this, but don’t really care at the time (are we high? Are we insane? What’s going on here?!).
Yeah. So anyways, Maggie’s kind of wandering around and I’m digging around in this one dark corner of the bottom floor’s main room. I stumble upon a life-sized statue thingy of Millard Fillmore, and I’m all “OMG LOL MILLARD FILLMORE, BITCH!” But in truth, I say, “Hey Maggie, look what I found–a Millard Fillmore statue.” I notice that he has this hidden compartment in his chest, so I open it and pull out this old spell book.
I look through it for a while and notice that these six long, rusty nails (phallic symbols–holy crap!) appear on the floor. I read this one spell and say to Maggie, “hey, guess what we can do? We can take these nails and this spell and pick six people and send them to hell!” Maggie’s all, “O…kay…” and I’m going, “here, take the nails and pick six people to kill. I’m going to go get a taco.” Maggie gets all flustered and uncomfortable, saying, “I don’t really feel comfortable killing people this way. What if something goes wrong?” So I basically explain that this was the way business was carried out–one person came up with the idea and the other carries it out. I point to myself and say “concept” and then point to her and say “execution.” Then I hand her the nails and leave (I’m totally ditching the whole situation…why does this sound familiar?).
And then I’m in Maggie’s head, thinking as she would think in the dream. She’s going, “okay, I’ve got these death nails…I guess I’ll kill that guy upstairs cause he just killed his wife…”, so she drops one of the nails into the ground. Then she runs out of ideas about who to kill and thinks, “I guess I can kill whoever came up with this weather…cause it’s so…cold?”
And then the alarm woke me up. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see the rest of Maggie’s victims. Nor did I ever get that taco.
Keep in mind this was a dream. Apologies to Maggie and the great Millard Fillmore.
<3 We will always keep him in our hearts. <3
You down wit’ OCD?
What’s up with these whacked-out dreams? Last night, I had this really freaky dream about being stalked. So I was in my dad’s old condo, getting ready to go swimming. It was like there were two versions of my dad there—one who was really desperately trying to get me to the pool a half an hour early, and one who was sleeping on the couch. So I go to the pool, and there’s a bunch of these bratty little kids there. Apparently, each time a new person comes to the pool, a person who was already there has to leave, so if I were to go in the pool, one of the little kids would have to leave. So instead of going to the pool (I hate kids anyway), I let the little bugger stay and went back to the house. I was feeling pretty good about the little good deed I did, and then suddenly I was riding my bike down a whole bunch of dirt and snow hills around Moscow. Pretty carelessly, as I recall. After a few minutes of this, I was downtown at the photography place. I went in there and seemed to know all the people. I was talking to this one guy for quite some time, then finally got my pictures and left. It was dark at this point, and I remember that I had taken the car to get the pictures (though I had really ridden my bike…WTF?). I go out into the parking lot behind the building and start looking for the car. It was then that I realized I couldn’t find it anywhere. I started to panic, then noticed that it was sitting off in a corner with the doors open. This really freaked me out and it was at this point that I started to get pretty paranoid. Just then, these two policemen came walking through the parking lot. I told them about the car, and they took their flashlights and we went over and started searching the car for anyone who may be inside of it. We checked everything at least fifty or so times—it was a very obsessive-compulsive dream. We’d open a door, shut it, then reopen it again just to make sure the “person” wasn’t hiding. Over, and over, and over again. That was basically the whole dream, us checking the damn car. What’s up with that? Anyway, after all that, the policemen sat in the car with me just to make sure it was safe. Then they shut the doors and grabbed me. It was then that I realized that they were the ones that were trying to kill me. Then I was in our house in the bathroom, talking to my mom on the phone. Apparently I got there safe somehow, but they were still trying to get me, cause all the doors were scratched up and there were big spider web cracks in the windows. So I was talking to my mom, all paranoid, telling her about the situation, and then I heard a phone ring. I thought this was weird (and scary!), cause we only had one phone. I said, “hold on a second,” into the phone, then I woke up. The phone was ringing.
What the crap kind of messed up dream was this? It was like Obsessive-Compulsive-O-Vision or something. With a lot of paranoia. Hm. Sounds like my life.
When judgement day arrives, Atheists won’t have a prayer!
Okaaaay…another weird dream. Possibly (probably) influenced by my reading of Shute’s On The Beach a couple of weeks ago. This thing is friggin’ epic, man. Here’s the basics of it:
My mom, grandma or dad (I couldn’t tell which—they seemed to alternate), and I are in our house in the attic. The floors and ceiling are all a dark wood. The attic is quite big, and kind of a dome shape. We are all kind of clustered to the left of the one window. After a few minutes, it is revealed that we are surviving a nuclear attack. Sometime later, I go downstairs and get some canned food. I keep wondering how long the fallout and radiation will last, but I think that it will be over in a year or so. I think that we have enough food to last that long.
We are back up in the attic, looking out the windows. A family was outside in their yard and mom said, “those people shouldn’t be outside. It’s still dangerous.” I looked around and noticed that everyone was out—all these children and all these families were out in their yards. I pointed this out to my mom. “They think it’s safe just because it’s sunny out,” she said. “But it’s bad. It’s coming.” Just then, a cloud of big flakes of black ash kind of swept in from the horizon and began dropping on the people outside.
We went out driving for some reason or another and noticed that more people were out on the streets and in their yards. Suddenly, the ash began gathering again. My mom rolled down her window and told this guy who was standing outside, looking bewildered, to get in our car. I said, “don’t open the door, the ash will get in and we’ll die!” So we began driving up the hill to our house, with the guy following the truck. He said “slow down”, so I told my mom to slow down so that he could catch up. We got to the top of the hill and he opened the door to get in. I kept yelling “don’t open the door, we’ll all die!” There was some type of mishap with my mom and the guy and their doors, but eventually they got back in the truck.
He came into our house with us and came up to the attic. For some reason, the internet still worked, and I remember thinking that that was strange. I was looking up the weather or something, then I went over to my mom, who was kind of sick and cold. I tried covering her up with a blanket, but I was having trouble. After awhile, we started out driving again.
We kept driving places, and I noticed that we only had half a tank of gas. I said, “what about gas?” My mom replied that there was a station not too far down the road. I thought, “Will there even be gas? How will we pay, or will we pay?”
As we were driving, my mom was saying, “the danger is low now. All the debris is over the water.” Just as she said that, a big waterspout full of the ash debris grew and we were all watching it. I remembered I had my camera, so I started taking pictures. I was thinking at first that it felt kind of wrong to be taking pictures of this, but then I got mad at myself because I probably should have been taking pictures since the beginning to document the whole thing.
Then we were in this building, going up some stairs. Suddenly, I was sitting on this wooden floor in this big room, talking to a guy at a barber’s chair to my right and an Indian woman a ways in front of us. She kept saying things like “we’ll be back to normal in a year or so” and I kept saying, “what about food? We can’t grow things in soil that’s been contaminated with heavy metals.” The barber, whose name is Paul, says I’m very knowledgeable about these things, and I get in his chair to get a haircut. The only problem is, I have to do a lot of it myself. Then we started talking about the cruise ship, which apparently we were on, and the Indian woman giving her opinion about it. As she was saying that she didn’t really understand or like it but that she didn’t mind it, we kind of started to quake a little on the water. Paul says that it was a good ship, and that people had the decency to wear coats outside nowadays.
It reverts back to a scene that looks like it was from the game Quake—I had just entered a room through a door that immediately shut behind me. Everything in the room was the color of the terrain in a Quake game—the kind of muddy brown rock color. The room consisted of a wide ledge, which I was walking on, a couple rock-like structures, and a large square pillar in the middle. A door to my right, opposite to where I was standing, was closed. I must have been on the second floor of the building, because I could look down and see that there was another floor below me with a door on the same wall that the door on my floor was. There are these weird looking zombies and guns suspended in mid-air. I did very well destroying the zombies and monsters with minimal health damage, but before I had a chance to go into a different room, each door opened and a person, each with a gun, came out of each door. I tried shooting at them but nothing happened.
One of the men said something to the effect of “if you can catch me, you get the prize”. He showed me this hole and I jumped into it…I seemed to have to hold my breath, even though there seemed to be no water or liquid. I took a couple wrong turns, but wound up in the right place.
I met this black-haired man, who, before I got there, seemed to be wishing to stash stuff away. The black-haired man had just handed an Indian woman this bag of green stuff, and he was saying “please pretend this is such-and-such”. Me and this other guy go out on the porch to meet him. We both start rubbing his hair, saying, “He has such a powerful head.” It feels like his hair, as I’m rubbing it, is falling off. I go, “You can feel the power in his whole head.” I know what he’s thinking, kind of, and know that he is kind of disgusted with us. He says, though, “at least one of you is a woman.”
So how many people honestly remember these little details in their dreams? I wonder if this dream means anything…?
Also, I like my title.
Where’s that fajita vendor?
Okay. Another dream. About you-know-who. So here it is:
I was walking around on campus, going to a marching band performance. I was walking in kind of a daze, and almost passed up the public bus. I only realized that I was at the bus stop when the bus opened its doors and people started getting on. I stayed on the bus for a while as it drove all around campus. Finally, we got to the music building, which, I realized, was only a block from the bus stop; I didn’t have to catch the bus at all, and I was hoping no one noticed this stupidity. All these different band members from different places and schools were beginning to pile up outside the music building. I went inside, where the U of I band was. Then I saw Lead*. Ugh. I said, “Hey!” He still seemed desperate to ignore me. I was running around inside the music building with just my socks on, among all these other band members who were in uniform, trying to impress him (sounds like the good old days). At some point I decided to make him some Easy Mac. “Easy” my butt. I totally screwed it up, and simultaneously realized I had screwed up any chances of getting his attention. So then I woke up.
So analyze this for me. What does the Easy Mac symbolize? What does my incompetent cooking symbolize? Can a macaroni noodle be considered a phallic symbol? Have I been reading too much about Freud?
*A nickname for a certain someone. Some of you know who they are.
It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad, ma–oh, wait.
Odd dream last night:
I am with this group of people, including my dad. We are at his space shuttle launch, and we’re going into space. There is this lady with a little girl about 5 years old. Suddenly, as we’re getting on the shuttle, I am no longer with the group. Instead, my mom and I are in the car with the sunroof open, driving on this road in between the launch site and the ocean. I seem to be hearing my dad’s voice from off somewhere, as well as the voices of the little girl and the mother. The little girl is asking her mother for some crackers just as the shuttle launches. I am watching this from inside the car and I notice that the lift-off was a little shaky. I am thinking that they are going to crash. They go over the car in a circle, and crash into the ocean on the other side with flames and explosions. My mom goes, “what happened?” and I say, “Didn’t you see it? The shuttle was lined up with the towers and it lifted off and crashed.” Then I was back in my dorm room. Almost nobody was there–they had all died int he shuttle crash. I kept thinking that the shuttle had just crash-landed in the water and that no one was really hurt and that we should just go back and get the survivors.
WTF? Freud would have a field day.
If there’s a space shuttle crash in the near future, I totally called it.
Seven butts past November (weird dreams)
Hmm.
Okay. Lately I’ve been having weird dreams that all involve water. What’s up with that? Sometimes it’s rain, sometimes it’s a lake, and once it was a lake with a creepy monster in it (influenced obviously by a preview I saw for “Lady in the Water”).
So I looked up what dreaming about water was supposed to be about, and it all relates to emotions (extreme emotions). Makes sense…college and all. They’ve just been weird.
Ketchikan, a weird dream, and pain!
First the dream. It was probably caused by the rocking of the ship, but who knows. Apologies in advance to Jacob’s mom, and keep in mind, this is just a dream!
All of us (Aneel, Candida, E’raina, Jacob, Shannyn and I) were at school. At lunch, we all went across the street to Jacob’s house. There, we went into his garage. I started digging around in an old dresser and found an old bra. I put it on and started dancing around the garage and doing other weird stuff. Then, I turned around, and saw my mom, my dad, and Jacob’s mom all glaring at me. I didn’t really care, until my parents told me that they had compiled all the bad stuff I had ever done (holy crap!) and were disowning me.
Eh…that’s about all. It seemed really weird the day after, but now that I’m typing this nearly a week later, it seems like a fairly normal dream for me.
Now on to Ketchikan! My mom and I did this really cool four hour adventure cart thingy in a private park. We got into these ATVs and drove them around on rough roads and over bridges and through streams and all sorts of cool places! And they gave us goldfish crackers! Yummay! Plus, the bumpiness didn’t even hurt my butt. Ketchikan gets a freakin’ lot of rain, but it didn’t rain today.
Finally, the most interesting (and funny) thing that happened to me today. I had already taken two rolls of film by this point, and my mom and I took them to one of these little wooden boxes where you drop off film. I put the film in those little envelopes and wrote down my name and room number. Then I dropped them in the box. Then I realized that I forgot to mark the little “doubles” box on the envelopes. So, being me, I stuck my hand into the box. There weren’t too many film thingies in there, so I found one envelope quickly, marked the “double”, and put it back in. Then I reached back in to find the other. I couldn’t quite reach it, so I stuck my arm in up to my shoulder to find it. By this time the box was starting to cut off the circulation to my arm, so I tried to pull it out…but I couldn’t. My mom’s standing there going “pull harder!” and was trying to shield the whole thing from the little security camera that was above us. After about three minutes, I finally maneuvered my arm around so that I could get it out. However, I left in the box about three layers of skin from my arm, which was all cut up and bruised. I shall never do that again. At least, with that specific box.
Hooray! Now off to Juneau!
“But I’m Socrates!”
Man, what a weird dream I had last night. This is how it goes:
I’m standing in a room with about 20 other people–one of which is Alan and one of which is Aneel. Alan is meditating. Aneel is sewing drapes. I walk over to Aneel and ask, “Is that the right kind of thread for that fabric?” and he answered, “Hitler would approve.” Alan started calling me “Socrates”.
Then the dream shifted to a hill–I think it was in France–and we were all sitting on a quilt. Then it started raining and we all hid under the quilt. However, I pointed out that the quilt was suffocating us not unlike a plastic bag would, and everyone died except for me and Aneel.
We walked to this odd-looking building, which was apparently a police station. Aneel told the cops about everyone dying under the quilt, and one of the cops looked at me and said something along the lines of “death becomes the person who dances with pants of steel” and then, “you will be executed for the murder of 19 people!”
So I shout out, “BUT I’M SOCRATES!” And then I woke up.
Hehe. What a strange dream. I need to stop taking drugs.
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