Life in a Corporate Environment - And a CSI Dream?
As much as the title of this entry sounds as if it might be some kind of very important essay or university level reading, here's a hint; It's not.
So far, I like my job, and though I won't disclose who it's with specifically, I will say I'm a CSR (That's 'Customer Service Relations/Representative,' pick your R) for Target.
What's funny though is that Target has no locations in Canada, nor any plans to move up here at all. I find that disappointing. I guess I should just use some of that activist stuff in me to say something... or maybe I won't. General public apathy has absorbed me, too.
So some of you who frequent the same sort of crowds that I do may be wondering just why it is that I chose Pidgeotto. That's because it looks cool, has colourful tailfeathers, looks like a hawk, and is a zillion times better than Pidgeot. Hell, the name even sounds better.
As far as I'm concerned the evolutionary chain should have gone Pidgey, Pidgeot, Pidgeotto. it just makes more linguistic sense. But apparently Nintendo doesn't agree with me, so back in 1998 they made a fail decision.
Whatever.
So I had a dinky CSI themed dream last night that I can only describe as being exceedingly odd.
Since I don't know a stupid, encyclopaedic amount on the show or the characters therein I really can't say a whole lot about their past. I mostly just know their last names, and only recently did I learn of who William Petersen is.
But I still call myself a CSI fan. Anyhow, onto the brain shaker.
So I had a dream that I was Grissom's nephew or something. Thing is I didn't see the dream from my perspective at all, I only saw it from 'his' sort of. Like third person kind of view but with better insight on his thoughts and feelings than mine.
Anyhow in the dream Grissom's brother, or 'my' father so to speak, is in some sort of horrible coma and, himself being the sole parent, I (appearing slightly younger than I actually am) was dumped on Grissom. Apparently he was the one named as the guardian or whatever since nobody else was around/alive/on Earth/whatever.
So the setting is a steely grey, terrible winter day in Las Vegas, and this scrawny kid steps through Grissom's door, escorted by an officer. Now I ought to mention that not only am I good looking, but I'm also extremely socially awkward which makes for an odd combination. You'd think that I'd be very confident in person or something, but I'm only nominally so. Since I was also appearing at the age of about seventeen as well, the social doofusness was more pronounced. So anyways this slender, well-proportioned kid with bright grey-blue eyes, short spiky hair, mostly black clothing and a ridiculous amount of chains on his jeans is led in and introduced haphazardly.
I should also mention that despite being socially stupid, I do know enough to be polite. Painfully so, it seems, at times. Or so I'm told, whatever I'm getting off track. So the dream self shakes Grissom's hand, politely refers to him as sir, only sits down when is offered to, and eventually the officer leaves. So he and I are sitting in his grey living room, on a grey day.
He makes some remark or something about how the last time he saw me I was nothing but a baby, you know the obligatory 'I'm a relative who's never been around and here you are' sort of thing to say. 'I' countered with some quote, either from Keats or Kipling. I do remember it was relevant to the situation, but I can't remember the exact thing. Fuzziness of dreams, you know? So the dream me roots around in his bag and pulls out Longfellow's Poetry and starts reading. See I don't really get how I'm acting at the time, but if I observe someone else acting that way, I can recognize faux pas.
Yeah, social doofusness. I'm told I have the Ass-pie. Whatever.
He and I really don't know what to do with ourselves, greatly evidenced by the fact that I keep reading and then he puts on a record or something like that. I recognize it as Tchaikovsky's Op. 35 in D Minor. I mention it. He nods. We read. My dreams are always so vivid.
It's then that the dream self realizes he's more comfortable sitting in this room with this veritable stranger than he has ever been with his family. He closes the book and puts it down, and that scrawny adolescent representation of me looks up.
"So, I'm living here, am I?" I remember my dumb little dream self sort of murmuring. "Because ____ is dead." Wherein blank is the name of his brother or whatever, I have no idea what the actual name is because honestly it hasn't survived troughout the day so far of me being awake.
Grissom more or less agrees I think, both of us being very awkward. I mention I've heard of him, that I was told of him, and that I suppose as the guest in his place I had better make the best of an awkward situation. He seems relieved. I offer to make tea. We do. I sit in the chair opposite the room from him and drink some, listening to Tchaikovsky in silence whilst he reads a book. My cup jitters in my hand for a moment, I can't remember why; Probably my dream representation was having emotional trauma or something of the kind.
Sara was nowhere in the picture. I am guessing this is either before they got together, or after she left. I don't know. There was no mention of her, 'I' knew nothing of her. There's more to this dream, literally days and chapters more. My dreams are always 'epic' that way, I've lived months before in the space of one night. It can be disconcerting at times.
Fanfic material? What do you think?