(no subject)
I really don't normally update this much. For real. Like, I'd settled into a once-a-month, MAYBE kind of pattern but I think when I get really down and alone-feeling (not lonely) I start putting my tendrils out to the internet.
What am I even talking about?
The trip to the walk-in counseling center sucked, and here's why: I thought I would leave feeling better, feeling a weight off my shoulders because I actually talked to someone about the crazy things going on and how I was feeling and whatever. I didn't expect an immediate fix, but I just sort of expected a little bit of relief by doing it. Nope, didn't get it. I actually got very anxious about going there, and they took it so damn seriously that it was uncomfortable. I feel like, I don't know, like maybe she wasn't listening to what I was saying, or something, I don't even know. But she said to try going back to the lower dosage of my medication and see how that makes me feel, and we scheduled a meeting with the counselor I'd been regularly seeing since last semester (and stopped because I didn't think it was doing anything and I was feeling better of course), but that's 3 weeks away. And school ends in 4 weeks. I was like, yeah I really don't think this is going to help me big time.
Typing a lot makes me feel better. Is that weird? Like just the sensation of my fingers on the keyboard and the sound of the keys being pressed sort of ... soothes me.
Anyway, so that was that. I felt extra shitty all night because of that. Pretty lame.
I actually came on here to post about A) the crazy ass pigeon from this morning and B) my insane dreams, so maybe I'll get down to that.
Okay, this goddamn pigeon at quarter after eight this morning comes bobbing around our window. We have windows that you can't get out of, of course, because it's the city and they don't want people falling or jumping out or whatever, so you have this little moveable rectangle of screen that you can open and then push out part of the window and it makes a little angular nook against the building. So this bird, at a quarter past eight, lands on the ledge and then bobs itself into the little nook. It is literally three feet away from my head, cooing away and scratching its feathers against the screen. Sugee thought it was my alarm at first, and then when the pigeon didn't move when we both sat up, I had to get up and shoo it away from the window. And five minutes later it came back and I had to do it again. Jesus. Goddamn birds at quarter past eight in the morning.
I thought it was interesting, though, how Sugee was like "GROSS" over a bird, and I took it as more of ... some sort of sign, I guess. A little bit of natural life in the city come to perch on our window ledge, even if I was annoyed that it woke me up. I guess that's just the difference between us.
The other thing, Jeeeeeesus Christ, I seriously am having crazy dreams again. I don't really mind because they're not like, scarring me when I wake up, and I can shake them off easily, it's just that I have so many per night and they're all just ... nuts! Last night there were two separate dreams about being in a big fight with my dad -- the first one had President Obama coming to our house to eat dinner with us, and he and my dad kept making digs at each other, but my dad started it. So when the President left and my dad was carrying on, I told him how he'd started the whole thing, and you can't just be rude to a guest in your house especially when it's the President, even if you don't like him. And my dad got really pissed and like, broke his new computer (this little laptop that only exists in the dream I don't even know) and then blamed him breaking his computer on me. And I was just yelling back at him, "Oh, yeah, it's me, it's MY fault that YOU broke the computer! I held a gun to your head and FORCED you to break the computer, it wasn't you being unable to control your temper!" And he got like psychotically pissed and left the room. That was the first one. The second dream about us fighting was right after that; I literally woke up, rolled over, went back to sleep and had this dream immediately after the first. All I remember was us fighting and then my dad had on this plastic suit and scuba mask to protect him from the water we were suddenly in, and he was holding me under as I struggled not to drown in the waves.
Yeah, pretty cool, having a dream about a parent trying to drown you.
Then I dreamed that I was a cop helping with an investigation about something ... I don't even remember what, but my partner and I had to go along the back of this building and question a bunch of prostitutes that were all with johns. I could hear that one of the active couples had a problem, the woman yelling help or something, and when I got there, they had fallen down some stairs into this little apartment, and the john hit his head. I tried to get information under the guise of not wanting to arrest them, just to make sure no one had a concussion, and eventually they let me in. But the prostitute started telling me about how the guy wasn't her boyfriend, the devil was her boyfriend. And he was also in a band. And I was like "Wait, the devil is in a band?" And she clarified by saying he was possessing someone in the band, and I was like "Oh, right of course, okay" trying to be the jokey joke type of cop because I wanted to get the hell out of there. I told them to watch for concussion symptoms and I wouldn't charge anyone, but my sergeant was out on the street and I had to get back, so I got out of there. I couldn't find my sergeant, so I went to the back of this other building because it was the gateway to the street our squad car was on, and as I went up the stairs I saw a dog collar and leash run down past me, with an invisible dog, and I was like ... that is a ghost dog. That dog is a ghost. Why can I see that? Oh shit, am I dead? SHIT, I'm dead! The Satan-worshipping prostitute killed me!
And then I saw myself, a generic looking cop guy, standing on the stairs with a shotgun blast to the stomach, and watched myself decay with a horrific look on my face.
I WIN AT DREAMS.
The last one before I woke up was about being in a witness protection movie starring Kevin Costner, that kid from the Sixth Sense, and Jennifer Aniston. I had to protect the kid and another kid from some crazy onslaught of bullets in their hiding place, but they wanted to be shot because kids in movies are always fucking assholes that way, and so I had to pull them into an elevator to protect them. Then at the end it was happy and we were all sitting around, hugging with Jennifer Aniston and eating baked ziti.
Who the hell knows.
What am I even talking about?
The trip to the walk-in counseling center sucked, and here's why: I thought I would leave feeling better, feeling a weight off my shoulders because I actually talked to someone about the crazy things going on and how I was feeling and whatever. I didn't expect an immediate fix, but I just sort of expected a little bit of relief by doing it. Nope, didn't get it. I actually got very anxious about going there, and they took it so damn seriously that it was uncomfortable. I feel like, I don't know, like maybe she wasn't listening to what I was saying, or something, I don't even know. But she said to try going back to the lower dosage of my medication and see how that makes me feel, and we scheduled a meeting with the counselor I'd been regularly seeing since last semester (and stopped because I didn't think it was doing anything and I was feeling better of course), but that's 3 weeks away. And school ends in 4 weeks. I was like, yeah I really don't think this is going to help me big time.
Typing a lot makes me feel better. Is that weird? Like just the sensation of my fingers on the keyboard and the sound of the keys being pressed sort of ... soothes me.
Anyway, so that was that. I felt extra shitty all night because of that. Pretty lame.
I actually came on here to post about A) the crazy ass pigeon from this morning and B) my insane dreams, so maybe I'll get down to that.
Okay, this goddamn pigeon at quarter after eight this morning comes bobbing around our window. We have windows that you can't get out of, of course, because it's the city and they don't want people falling or jumping out or whatever, so you have this little moveable rectangle of screen that you can open and then push out part of the window and it makes a little angular nook against the building. So this bird, at a quarter past eight, lands on the ledge and then bobs itself into the little nook. It is literally three feet away from my head, cooing away and scratching its feathers against the screen. Sugee thought it was my alarm at first, and then when the pigeon didn't move when we both sat up, I had to get up and shoo it away from the window. And five minutes later it came back and I had to do it again. Jesus. Goddamn birds at quarter past eight in the morning.
I thought it was interesting, though, how Sugee was like "GROSS" over a bird, and I took it as more of ... some sort of sign, I guess. A little bit of natural life in the city come to perch on our window ledge, even if I was annoyed that it woke me up. I guess that's just the difference between us.
The other thing, Jeeeeeesus Christ, I seriously am having crazy dreams again. I don't really mind because they're not like, scarring me when I wake up, and I can shake them off easily, it's just that I have so many per night and they're all just ... nuts! Last night there were two separate dreams about being in a big fight with my dad -- the first one had President Obama coming to our house to eat dinner with us, and he and my dad kept making digs at each other, but my dad started it. So when the President left and my dad was carrying on, I told him how he'd started the whole thing, and you can't just be rude to a guest in your house especially when it's the President, even if you don't like him. And my dad got really pissed and like, broke his new computer (this little laptop that only exists in the dream I don't even know) and then blamed him breaking his computer on me. And I was just yelling back at him, "Oh, yeah, it's me, it's MY fault that YOU broke the computer! I held a gun to your head and FORCED you to break the computer, it wasn't you being unable to control your temper!" And he got like psychotically pissed and left the room. That was the first one. The second dream about us fighting was right after that; I literally woke up, rolled over, went back to sleep and had this dream immediately after the first. All I remember was us fighting and then my dad had on this plastic suit and scuba mask to protect him from the water we were suddenly in, and he was holding me under as I struggled not to drown in the waves.
Yeah, pretty cool, having a dream about a parent trying to drown you.
Then I dreamed that I was a cop helping with an investigation about something ... I don't even remember what, but my partner and I had to go along the back of this building and question a bunch of prostitutes that were all with johns. I could hear that one of the active couples had a problem, the woman yelling help or something, and when I got there, they had fallen down some stairs into this little apartment, and the john hit his head. I tried to get information under the guise of not wanting to arrest them, just to make sure no one had a concussion, and eventually they let me in. But the prostitute started telling me about how the guy wasn't her boyfriend, the devil was her boyfriend. And he was also in a band. And I was like "Wait, the devil is in a band?" And she clarified by saying he was possessing someone in the band, and I was like "Oh, right of course, okay" trying to be the jokey joke type of cop because I wanted to get the hell out of there. I told them to watch for concussion symptoms and I wouldn't charge anyone, but my sergeant was out on the street and I had to get back, so I got out of there. I couldn't find my sergeant, so I went to the back of this other building because it was the gateway to the street our squad car was on, and as I went up the stairs I saw a dog collar and leash run down past me, with an invisible dog, and I was like ... that is a ghost dog. That dog is a ghost. Why can I see that? Oh shit, am I dead? SHIT, I'm dead! The Satan-worshipping prostitute killed me!
And then I saw myself, a generic looking cop guy, standing on the stairs with a shotgun blast to the stomach, and watched myself decay with a horrific look on my face.
I WIN AT DREAMS.
The last one before I woke up was about being in a witness protection movie starring Kevin Costner, that kid from the Sixth Sense, and Jennifer Aniston. I had to protect the kid and another kid from some crazy onslaught of bullets in their hiding place, but they wanted to be shot because kids in movies are always fucking assholes that way, and so I had to pull them into an elevator to protect them. Then at the end it was happy and we were all sitting around, hugging with Jennifer Aniston and eating baked ziti.
Who the hell knows.