Weird fucking dreams.
I had two dreams last night which stayed with me, really vivid, which is odd because I either don't dream veyr often or I completely forget about them if I do have them. What's weirder is that the set-up for both dreams involved St.Patrick's day, which is a holiday I don't give a fuck about. I'm not Irish. I don't drink. I usually don't even know St. Patrick's day is happening until late that day when I see all the stupid shamrock-themed advertisements on bars. Anyways, the dreams.
1) For some reason, this lame-ass holiday has resulted in my being obligated to hang out with an ex-girlfriend, alone. Not only do we have to hang out, but we have to have a sleep over. Not like we're hooking up or anything like that, we just have to spend the night in the same house. I don't know why, I couldn't tell you. I had the vague impression that it was somehow her idea, but that there were larger external forces making this happen.
I go to her parent's house, and it's not even her parent's house any more, it's the apartment where they used to live back when we were dating like eight years ago. She's not there yet. I just keep sitting on the couch getting really anxious, mostly because we don't get along. We're hardly even on speaking terms. What's fucked up is that she stands me up. She completely forgets about these strange and awkward plans we've made. Typical.
2) I have volunteered to help the town of Manchester do maintenance on their ambulances in preparation for the St. Patrick's day festivities. I have no idea why they would choose me to do this, since I know nothing about fixing ambulances. I have no idea why they expect to need ambulances.
But anyways I'm fixing the ambulance when I hear a voice from the muffler. It sounds to me like someone is trapped inside the gas tank. I start siphoning gas out through the muffler, which is not technically possible, and then this little boy's hand starts reaching out from the muffler. I get most of the gas out and look in and I can see this little Puerto Rican kid trapped inside the gas tank. He's alive but all fucked-up from the gasoline.
I call 911. I tell them everything, frantically. The operator tells me it's a waste of time because even if they manage to get the kid out alive, which they probably won't, he'll be so damaged that it wouldn't even be worth it. I get enraged and start screaming at the operator about how he has no right to decide whether or not this kid was worth anything, or to speculate about his ability to recover. I start telling him how I was abused as a kid and how I went to jail and how I was written off but now I'm okay, and it's so fucked up that he isn't doing his job just because he's lazy and bitter. You're in the wrong fucking job, I tell him. I'm sobbing and can't breathe, and then I wake up.
1) For some reason, this lame-ass holiday has resulted in my being obligated to hang out with an ex-girlfriend, alone. Not only do we have to hang out, but we have to have a sleep over. Not like we're hooking up or anything like that, we just have to spend the night in the same house. I don't know why, I couldn't tell you. I had the vague impression that it was somehow her idea, but that there were larger external forces making this happen.
I go to her parent's house, and it's not even her parent's house any more, it's the apartment where they used to live back when we were dating like eight years ago. She's not there yet. I just keep sitting on the couch getting really anxious, mostly because we don't get along. We're hardly even on speaking terms. What's fucked up is that she stands me up. She completely forgets about these strange and awkward plans we've made. Typical.
2) I have volunteered to help the town of Manchester do maintenance on their ambulances in preparation for the St. Patrick's day festivities. I have no idea why they would choose me to do this, since I know nothing about fixing ambulances. I have no idea why they expect to need ambulances.
But anyways I'm fixing the ambulance when I hear a voice from the muffler. It sounds to me like someone is trapped inside the gas tank. I start siphoning gas out through the muffler, which is not technically possible, and then this little boy's hand starts reaching out from the muffler. I get most of the gas out and look in and I can see this little Puerto Rican kid trapped inside the gas tank. He's alive but all fucked-up from the gasoline.
I call 911. I tell them everything, frantically. The operator tells me it's a waste of time because even if they manage to get the kid out alive, which they probably won't, he'll be so damaged that it wouldn't even be worth it. I get enraged and start screaming at the operator about how he has no right to decide whether or not this kid was worth anything, or to speculate about his ability to recover. I start telling him how I was abused as a kid and how I went to jail and how I was written off but now I'm okay, and it's so fucked up that he isn't doing his job just because he's lazy and bitter. You're in the wrong fucking job, I tell him. I'm sobbing and can't breathe, and then I wake up.