(no subject)
I had the most amazing dream last night (this morning?). Not amazing in the "Wow, this is so awesome, and damn, why do I have to wake up?" sort of way, but more in the "Holy shit, my subconscious knows what's up far better than I do, and this is totally fucked up but, wow, what insight!" I don't remember a lot of the specifics, but myself and another girl were involved in some adventure and were circumvented by some guy (who was someone's brother, that much I remember). Whatever he was involved in, it was really not acceptable for it to get out, so the girl and I were forced (at gunpoint, perhaps? I don't know, but threats were made sufficiently to enforce our compliance) to put these large sort of rubber balls into our mouths (behave!) and pretty much just lay motionless indefinitely. These balls were sort of gelatinous, so they could be compressed to fit into a mouth, but then expanded to take up all space in the mouth, making them near-impossible to remove, and definitely impossible to eat, breathe, or speak around. They were also somehow bio-tuned to cause horrific pain in the stomach if we tried to sit up, and to explode if they were removed. Don't try to work out any sort of explanation for this one, but they were known as "Boston Bombs." Who knows? Anyway, they left me and the other girl laying in bed, totally unable to communicate, forced to breathe through the nose only, and unable to move. At some point, the (female) prime minister of whatever the hell government ran the place we were in happened upon me and I was somehow able to communicate who the perpetrator was through minimal hand and eye movements. Once he was captured, it came out that the "Boston Bombs" were not explosive at all, and that everything was just a suggestion, and really the only thing keeping us in our present state was ourselves. After a lot of work, I was able to get myself up out of bed and walk outside and remove the ball, which essentially crumbled in my mouth and became removeable in pieces. I was fully an adult and normal and healthy and awesome. I went back inside to find the other girl and share the good news with her, but she couldn't follow my lead. She ended up an emaciated small child who couldn't speak or move.
Moral of the Story: Paralysis and an inability to "speak" (which, in my case, probably is more along the lines of writing, though I'm a pretty terrible communicator in any case) is totally self-induced. Failure to break out of this paralysis results in remaining a child forever. Therefore, get over yourself, stop worring yourself into submission, and get your shit taken care of, or else you'll never grow up and just waste away.
...
In other news, no matter how pre-packaged and no doubt terrible for you they are, I fucking love Pillsbury Orange Cinnamon Rolls, and probably will forever. Same goes for Domino's pizza that someone else bought and has free and available for you to eat. I had four slices. They were delicious.
Also, Googling the term "Synaesthetic Cookbook," as learned from one of the NYTimes' Magazine's list of the year's best ideas, led to the webpage of Hugo Liu, who is my new academic soulmate. What a fucking badass! If he were just, like, ten years older and tenured, I'd totally be applying to whatever program he'd be teaching at, because he fucking gets it.
Moral of the Story: Paralysis and an inability to "speak" (which, in my case, probably is more along the lines of writing, though I'm a pretty terrible communicator in any case) is totally self-induced. Failure to break out of this paralysis results in remaining a child forever. Therefore, get over yourself, stop worring yourself into submission, and get your shit taken care of, or else you'll never grow up and just waste away.
...
In other news, no matter how pre-packaged and no doubt terrible for you they are, I fucking love Pillsbury Orange Cinnamon Rolls, and probably will forever. Same goes for Domino's pizza that someone else bought and has free and available for you to eat. I had four slices. They were delicious.
Also, Googling the term "Synaesthetic Cookbook," as learned from one of the NYTimes' Magazine's list of the year's best ideas, led to the webpage of Hugo Liu, who is my new academic soulmate. What a fucking badass! If he were just, like, ten years older and tenured, I'd totally be applying to whatever program he'd be teaching at, because he fucking gets it.