If I Ever Need a Pseudonym, I Guess I'll Go By "Kelly"
News from dreamland:
Evidently mom decided it was of the utmost importance that I have the image of my face embroidered onto my left pajama sleeve. However, this alone was not enough to sate her sewing bloodlust, and before I could offer any rational response she sewed a new set of sutures into my gums. Without, as my dream's narration pointed out, any anesthetic.
For reasons unexplained, I spent the next minute or two jumping around an area from Metroid Prime (though none I recognized), trying not land too hard lest I jostle my sutures.
Total non-sequitur: I was in the costume closet at church, putting various tunics on clothes hangers. There was a young woman with me-- nobody I knew, but definitely a Class A bitch. Cheerleader type. She was clearly not happy to be there. And she only got worse when she realized that she couldn't find her favorite costume (it was blue). I said, "Honestly, it's probably best if you don't care about it too much" (or something to the effect of her not needing to think about it). What I meant was that even if we couldn't find it now, it was probably somewhere in the giant pile of costumes. Little did I know that this would make the poor girl start hyperventilating and shriek "YOU THREW OUT MY FAVORITE COSTUME?!" My response was less than civil: "What? No. Calm down, ya fucktard." (Evidently we she had been bothering me for quite some time.) For reasons that are utterly lost on me, she grabbed my hand, yanked until she crashed into the wall, and screamed "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Then she fled the room. Mom and her coworker Ms. Hillary showed up, drawn by the commotion, and the girl frantically explained how "Kelly" (she had called me "Kelly" since the moment we'd met, though this happened off-screen) had sworn at her and hit her and thrown away her favorite costume. I got the feeling that-- despite having no history with this girl and half her story being blatant lies, I was still going to catch hell for all of it because of my slip of the tongue.
Cue wakeup.
Evidently mom decided it was of the utmost importance that I have the image of my face embroidered onto my left pajama sleeve. However, this alone was not enough to sate her sewing bloodlust, and before I could offer any rational response she sewed a new set of sutures into my gums. Without, as my dream's narration pointed out, any anesthetic.
For reasons unexplained, I spent the next minute or two jumping around an area from Metroid Prime (though none I recognized), trying not land too hard lest I jostle my sutures.
Total non-sequitur: I was in the costume closet at church, putting various tunics on clothes hangers. There was a young woman with me-- nobody I knew, but definitely a Class A bitch. Cheerleader type. She was clearly not happy to be there. And she only got worse when she realized that she couldn't find her favorite costume (it was blue). I said, "Honestly, it's probably best if you don't care about it too much" (or something to the effect of her not needing to think about it). What I meant was that even if we couldn't find it now, it was probably somewhere in the giant pile of costumes. Little did I know that this would make the poor girl start hyperventilating and shriek "YOU THREW OUT MY FAVORITE COSTUME?!" My response was less than civil: "What? No. Calm down, ya fucktard." (Evidently we she had been bothering me for quite some time.) For reasons that are utterly lost on me, she grabbed my hand, yanked until she crashed into the wall, and screamed "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Then she fled the room. Mom and her coworker Ms. Hillary showed up, drawn by the commotion, and the girl frantically explained how "Kelly" (she had called me "Kelly" since the moment we'd met, though this happened off-screen) had sworn at her and hit her and thrown away her favorite costume. I got the feeling that-- despite having no history with this girl and half her story being blatant lies, I was still going to catch hell for all of it because of my slip of the tongue.
Cue wakeup.