creepy
So I get home a few minutes ago and the teenage to early 20's middle easternish kid from next door is all sitting on the steps creeping me the fuck out. To preface, the other night VIctoria and I came home and he was looking out at us from his bedroom with the blinds open and his light on. Obvious. So yeah, when I saw him on the steps, first thoughts, "Ugh, weird and unavoidable. Why are you on our communal steps blocking my way???" So I went to go check the mail which I was pretty sure Vicky had already done and when I came back he was gone. I'm sure if he realized the perceived strangeness of his ways or if maybe I was a little bit louder than I thought when I whispered "Cree-py" as I rolled up my car window.
Also, trying to figure out whether or not I had to buy Maroon 5 tickets for Victoria this afternoon forced me to constantly wake myself after three different dreams and subsequently remember them all. Two of which involved me beating or threatening to beat people with bats or sticks. The first one was my favorite though so I'll try telling it. I was a little boy being held captive by some man of importance, maybe a king, probably not. In any case, I was being forced to tell him a story. As I told the story I also made some designs on a clay sculpture. I would take a hook-y tool (the professional term, thank you) and incise swirly designs on it and then take the clay from the incisions and make more swirly designs on the sculpture. As the story went on the sculpture got bigger and taller, with me sitting toward the top, and the chair or throne the captor sat on grew taller, too. Eventually the sculpture and the captor disappear or the captor just transformed into a skinny mixed girl who either wanted to hurt me, or who I thought I could take out and make my way to freedom. All I know is I'm hitting her with a bat, she has one too, but it's not doing anything. No matter how much force I try to use to hit her, it comes out as a weak-wristed little tap. At one point I knock the bat she has out of her hand and try hitting her with both bats, with the same pathetic effect. And that's about the time I jerk myself out of sleep to see if Vicky's still here or not.
Also, trying to figure out whether or not I had to buy Maroon 5 tickets for Victoria this afternoon forced me to constantly wake myself after three different dreams and subsequently remember them all. Two of which involved me beating or threatening to beat people with bats or sticks. The first one was my favorite though so I'll try telling it. I was a little boy being held captive by some man of importance, maybe a king, probably not. In any case, I was being forced to tell him a story. As I told the story I also made some designs on a clay sculpture. I would take a hook-y tool (the professional term, thank you) and incise swirly designs on it and then take the clay from the incisions and make more swirly designs on the sculpture. As the story went on the sculpture got bigger and taller, with me sitting toward the top, and the chair or throne the captor sat on grew taller, too. Eventually the sculpture and the captor disappear or the captor just transformed into a skinny mixed girl who either wanted to hurt me, or who I thought I could take out and make my way to freedom. All I know is I'm hitting her with a bat, she has one too, but it's not doing anything. No matter how much force I try to use to hit her, it comes out as a weak-wristed little tap. At one point I knock the bat she has out of her hand and try hitting her with both bats, with the same pathetic effect. And that's about the time I jerk myself out of sleep to see if Vicky's still here or not.