the *Dream Journal*
i had a very strange, disturbing dream last night. well, this morning. after the alarm went off and i ignored it. the sort of dream that leaves you jerking awake thinking "was i really in the holocaust with jack from LOST?"
well of course not. and following that thought, you realize hmm. this was a strange dream. how did it go from talking to pim to my old marching band to climbing up a hill to the holocaust? and why the hell is jack there?
luckily, i've gotten becky's old bookshelf and had been resorting my books and moved my dream journal back to its meaningful place bveside my bed. (unfortunately i forgot to also include a pencil)
after frantically recording my odd dream, and talking to my landlord and thus deciding i would in fact NOT be going to san rafael today but would go tomorrow (as if my sleeping in hadn't decided that, now i had an excuse!), i went back and read the last entry in my dream journal.
dated april 11 2005.
that makes it 2 years, 4 months, and 10 days old.
it was a bizarre dream that i barely recall writing down. so i went to the entry before that.
it's 5 pages long which, if you know me and my wrist problems, is a very long hand-written entry that erodes further into illegibility as it goes. dated april 3 2005.
the gist of that journal is that i'm unhappy with a friend of mine who's in the air force, asked me to marry him so i could go to germany with him, then got shipped to germany in february. i thought we'd never talk again, but we actually talked more with the time difference. he'd call me at 6am and i'd be getting drunk at 10pm. miracles.
but april is around the time i found out he was being shipped to kuwait in may for 3 months followed by iraq. it's, in fact, one of the last times i talked to him. i still haven't heard from him. 2 years, 4 months, and some odd days later.
BUT
ben isn't the point. the point is something else i wrote in my dream journal that made me think of that show "Get Mortified" that fel introduced me to. where people read from old journals and we laugh at their stupidity.
this isn't one of those entries. i keep looking for one of those, but mine are far too depressing to ever be read aloud except at an emo convention. [i may have said emo, but i was never that. i was always more goth. and that's why it's more depressing. there's a big difference between saying you're depressed and going to cut yourself and actually trying. and that's why i can't read mine aloud. even if they are only 3 years old.]
anyway, it made me realize that i got through college unscathed and dreams intact, as crazy and insane as they are.
i present to you... The Longest Rambling Sentence About Sex A Virgin Can Ever Write!
ps, forget that i was a virgin 2 years ago.
beginning in mid-unimportant-thought...
"Yet another reason why I need to be more grounded in reality. Says the girl who wants to work for the government to catch serial killers and still help make operas, sing, play the flute, and do all sorts of drugs until she's well into her forties -- assuming she even lives that long -- who wants to go out in a blaze of glory, flame, blood, flying glass shards, and surprise, who wants to break from the nuclear family norms and be fully independent but secretly yearns for a man who loves her deeply like they do in the movies (the ones who will sing to her for no reason, know when to hold her and when to give her space, fit behind her back like a mold, and of course have endless quirks and surprises to learn about) and someone to come home to after the unconventional day at the unconventional office and cook dinner and have passionate sex on the table and want her as badly as she wants him..."
*gasp* *gulp* *breathe*
yes. that rambling was all one sentence. sort of. kennedy's speech writers would be so proud of my paralell sentence structure, which in the end makes all run-on sentences seem sensical even if you want to hit kennedy over the head and scream
USE A DAMN PERIOD ALREADY! SPEECHES CAN COME IN MULTIPLE SENTENCES!!
damn showoff.
and where do i stand after re reading my dreams from 2 years ago?
well . . . i still want to be a profiler for the government, even if i do hate The Man. and i still want that imaginary husband who's perfect for me. except now, i've had the amazing sex on the kitchen table and it left me in serious amounts of pain for weeks, and fitting into someone's back is nice but unimportant and i still know how i'm going to die (which pim insists is just my fear of car crashes, but ah well) and i still want to do drugs if i want to and not become one of those tied-down collar-wearing office types, even if i do dress up for those sorts of work occasions in my best Power Lesbian Suit, hereby abbreviated forever in my writing as PLS.
oh wait.
and that's the end of our news segment as we know it. if i find more hilarity in my journal as i keep reading, i'm sure you'll know about it.
well of course not. and following that thought, you realize hmm. this was a strange dream. how did it go from talking to pim to my old marching band to climbing up a hill to the holocaust? and why the hell is jack there?
luckily, i've gotten becky's old bookshelf and had been resorting my books and moved my dream journal back to its meaningful place bveside my bed. (unfortunately i forgot to also include a pencil)
after frantically recording my odd dream, and talking to my landlord and thus deciding i would in fact NOT be going to san rafael today but would go tomorrow (as if my sleeping in hadn't decided that, now i had an excuse!), i went back and read the last entry in my dream journal.
dated april 11 2005.
that makes it 2 years, 4 months, and 10 days old.
it was a bizarre dream that i barely recall writing down. so i went to the entry before that.
it's 5 pages long which, if you know me and my wrist problems, is a very long hand-written entry that erodes further into illegibility as it goes. dated april 3 2005.
the gist of that journal is that i'm unhappy with a friend of mine who's in the air force, asked me to marry him so i could go to germany with him, then got shipped to germany in february. i thought we'd never talk again, but we actually talked more with the time difference. he'd call me at 6am and i'd be getting drunk at 10pm. miracles.
but april is around the time i found out he was being shipped to kuwait in may for 3 months followed by iraq. it's, in fact, one of the last times i talked to him. i still haven't heard from him. 2 years, 4 months, and some odd days later.
BUT
ben isn't the point. the point is something else i wrote in my dream journal that made me think of that show "Get Mortified" that fel introduced me to. where people read from old journals and we laugh at their stupidity.
this isn't one of those entries. i keep looking for one of those, but mine are far too depressing to ever be read aloud except at an emo convention. [i may have said emo, but i was never that. i was always more goth. and that's why it's more depressing. there's a big difference between saying you're depressed and going to cut yourself and actually trying. and that's why i can't read mine aloud. even if they are only 3 years old.]
anyway, it made me realize that i got through college unscathed and dreams intact, as crazy and insane as they are.
i present to you... The Longest Rambling Sentence About Sex A Virgin Can Ever Write!
ps, forget that i was a virgin 2 years ago.
beginning in mid-unimportant-thought...
"Yet another reason why I need to be more grounded in reality. Says the girl who wants to work for the government to catch serial killers and still help make operas, sing, play the flute, and do all sorts of drugs until she's well into her forties -- assuming she even lives that long -- who wants to go out in a blaze of glory, flame, blood, flying glass shards, and surprise, who wants to break from the nuclear family norms and be fully independent but secretly yearns for a man who loves her deeply like they do in the movies (the ones who will sing to her for no reason, know when to hold her and when to give her space, fit behind her back like a mold, and of course have endless quirks and surprises to learn about) and someone to come home to after the unconventional day at the unconventional office and cook dinner and have passionate sex on the table and want her as badly as she wants him..."
*gasp* *gulp* *breathe*
yes. that rambling was all one sentence. sort of. kennedy's speech writers would be so proud of my paralell sentence structure, which in the end makes all run-on sentences seem sensical even if you want to hit kennedy over the head and scream
USE A DAMN PERIOD ALREADY! SPEECHES CAN COME IN MULTIPLE SENTENCES!!
damn showoff.
and where do i stand after re reading my dreams from 2 years ago?
well . . . i still want to be a profiler for the government, even if i do hate The Man. and i still want that imaginary husband who's perfect for me. except now, i've had the amazing sex on the kitchen table and it left me in serious amounts of pain for weeks, and fitting into someone's back is nice but unimportant and i still know how i'm going to die (which pim insists is just my fear of car crashes, but ah well) and i still want to do drugs if i want to and not become one of those tied-down collar-wearing office types, even if i do dress up for those sorts of work occasions in my best Power Lesbian Suit, hereby abbreviated forever in my writing as PLS.
oh wait.
and that's the end of our news segment as we know it. if i find more hilarity in my journal as i keep reading, i'm sure you'll know about it.