I dream of Georgie
I dreamt about Dubya.
That's right. There's no hope for my sanity, is there? I dreamt about George W Bush, who isn't even running *my* country. And he wasn't running it in the dream, either. I dreamt it was the last day at high school (just one in a long line of similiar dreams)...and he was the new headteacher. Thing is, he made quite an impression. Because it gets worse.
He decided to pick on several people...and I got groped. The president of the United States made sexual advances on a barely-legal me. I'd understand this if I was dreaming about Clinton...but Bush? Wha? The dream then went on with the rest of us deciding that how he treated me was Just Not Accepable, and so I ended up going to his office with a formal complaint up my sleevs. Surrounded by lots of small children. How they came into it, I don't know. It was just a wacky dream overall, even by my standards. I mean - and there's a theme emerging here - last Tuesday I dreamt Robert Bathurst was my teacher (me being 14 that time). *That* I can understand. Even though he told me off for not doing my English essay. Being too busy idolizing your teacher is apparently not a valid excuse.
I also had a bizarre dream collection last week in which I was apparently looking for a new studenty place to live in Manchester. For some reason, we briefly went back in time - possibly inspired by that earlier blog entry - because the place we were looking at looked just like some bedsit/squat straight out of 80s Manchester. We passed the Young Ones on the stairway, which was pretty cool. What wasn't so cool was the lack of separate flats in the New Place. In fact, it looked like a hospital dormitory to me, just loads of brass beds. So, disgruntled I left with my friend who came out of nowhere. And developed the most annoying catchphrase I've ever had in a dream. I kept pointing at old concert posters and flyers on the walls, and some reason most of these involved Duran Duran.
"Nick Rhodes hasn't had hair like that since....!"
Since what, I never said. I just kept coming out with that. And then I dreamt about giant purple beetroot/pumpkin things that kept exploding. See, uni is messing with my head already.
In other news: I just made a real complaint. For the last week, there's been an unbearably loud bassline coming from somewhere. Constantly, morning noon and night. It's woke me up, irritated me, stopped me doing my current brain-knotting essay, and then kept me awake in the small hours. The fact that I'm an insomniac will pass. And it's not so much that it's unbearably loud as unbearably CRAP. I can just about tolerate loud music if it's decent. Last night I stormed upstairs and downstairs. I think it's somewhere in 508, which is almost below us. Look, it's not even directly below us. You can hear it in our bathroom too. So, last resort, I went to security guys. Hopefully crappy bass will no longer darken my door again. In your fat face, inconsiderate deaf bass thumping monkey! I'd rather dream of Dubya than listen to your moronic beats.