Unfortunate events
Yo, my bracelet wasn't on my wrist when I woke up a few minutes ago. I mean, really!!!
I thought at first that I wasn't seeing straight but the thing is green and the sun was lighting the room up enough. Then I thought, I'm still asleep. But, of course, I wasn't. I got that angry sort of annoyed that makes you laugh at irony a bit, muttered, "Why does this stuff happen to me?", and went to the bathroom, hoping it was a repeat of yesterday. However, my wrist band wasn't there.
I tore the bed apart and, sure enough, there it was, split in the middle, broken, this useless band of rubber. It had never had a tear in its time with me, had endured loads of strain and snags. If anything, I thought the black one would break before the green one.
I had been doing so good, too. Usually if I keep things too long, especially on my person, they do fall apart. Not from neglect, but maybe from carelessness: they become so familiar I don't put much time into protecting them from the little knicks and bruises my body gets (which has led to several injuries). They become sentimental and most of the time I keep them on even though I've long ago become paranoid about such a thing. I don't want to lose them but I don't want to give them up, either.
These, though, seemed to be defeating the odds.
I put it in my Drawer of Everything.
The god of Irony (I'm now going to call him/her Shirle, the Surly Sure-I'll) didn't only pee on my breakfast burrito, he/she decided to disembowel the entire fridge!!!
I think I'm going to cry.
--
This would be a big deal for me even if I hadn't had that dream the other night, which I guess could now be called a premonition of sorts. Unless my subconscious is still on that weird mode where it's trying to tell me something and my body tore it off while I was asleep to send me some sort of message. In which case, WHAT? I think I get it, but what's so hard about giving me an epiphany the normal way--when I'm awake and freaking out about coincidences?
All I did last night was watch movies with the family. We got my uncle his birthday presents and one of mine was Hellboy II. I took it upstairs and watched it again, with both commentaries, before I felt tired. They liked it and so did I. Before that I had been on LJ while they watched Kung-fu Panda. We did the test to see which animal we were and I ended up being a Panda.
Twice.
My aunt was a Tiger. Unka B was the Crane. Ash was the Praying Mantis the first time and the Viper the second time, though the latter was mostly a series of desperate second guessed answers. Mae-Jay was a monkey, twice. They assured me that the Panda is The Man and that it's a good thing, but I hadn't seen the movie yet. My uncle joked that I just wanted to be "one of the five" (I choked, remembering a dream from a while ago and thinking about Hellboy actually being secksy, which also made me think of that dream) and pointed out how Panda I was: I was eating at the time, had just had my third helping of veggies.
Really. I'd only watched movies. My dreams were distressingly back-stage related. One involved David Thewlis and I acting out a short story I'd written (in the dream) as part of a book of short stories. It was nerve-wracking because the story was very simple, personal, and there were cameras.
My second dream wasn't one I remember. It might have been during this darker flurry of a dream that I tore the band off. I dunno.
Before waking up, I had that lucid kind of daydream. It involved being trapped at the foot of my new bed, probably tied some how. The guy, still beautiful, who had thrown salt on me in New York was there, talking, but I really never heard his voice. Dream!Me seemed to understand. Dream!Me didn't like it at all.
I was wearing my Flapper outfit and had been taking pictures, photo-shoot-like, before the rope or Mae-Jay's handcuffs came into play (I don't know why she has them, but they're always popping up around the room when I need to clean). This time, though, my make-up was awesome--my aunt had taken me shopping and bought me some things, lip gloss, foundation, and mascara yesterday-- and I had the garters and thigh-highs I always loved on Amanda Palmer. My shoes fit and didn't hurt. So, I felt rather nice. Put together. Pretty. Fun and free.
It dragged on and on. In the end, I guess sitting had been too uncomfortable or maybe he'd kicked me, but I was curled up on the floor. He poured salt all over me, so much so that it left a big imprint of me on the wood. I didn't open my eyes the whole time, afraid it would sting, so I was spared how creepy this would have been, and I think water was sprinkled on my face. He said something, nice for once, that made me look up. But he was leaving.
The end of the dream is weird in that I'm not in it. My room is empty and it's the next day. The inverted imprint of salt has scuffle marks in it, very realistic of my subconscious actually, and a few paw prints. The bed post doesn't have rope or anything but some of the paint is chipped. It's sunrise and the room looks very clean, apart from that little area, and all the better for it. It's quiet. Golden. One of the mirrors, though, is broken. My shoes start hurting, even though I'm not there.
Maybe that was when I tore the bracelet off? Trying to get out of the rope?
Anyway, I'm back to wondering what the hell that guy was doing when he threw salt on my feet? It's still the strangest comeback that I've ever been dealt. It's a bit scary now. I started looking up superstitions and such involving salt. It's too broad a subject to draw anything from and I'll just hype myself up, so unless anyone has anything I'm going to stop. Soon.
--
One of the other things I was reminded of when I saw my broken bracelet was the band. I quit a few weeks ago but only got up the nerve to tell them a few days ago. Maybe the symbolism is what I needed to come to terms with it.
It's just, why the green one? It was fine. Now I have to worry extra hard about the black one with it's tear and....
Oh. Oh. See, I love talking things out! I get me sooo much!
--
I still think I'm going to cry, though.