Bacon, Lucid Dreams, and the Car of Coincidence
I think I would like this to be my last meal.
Link!
Actually, I have a feeling that if I ate it, it would be my last meal whether I wanted it to be or not.
I had my first lucid dream last night! I didn't do anything really fun, though, because I was too afraid that any sudden movements would wake me up. Even when I'm asleep I remember how much I hate waking up in the middle of the night, apparently. Mostly I just had a party with a bunch of people I didn't know in my super-awesome dream bedroom. Seriously, guys, this bedroom was hardcore. It was mostly pale pink and white, and obscenely frilly. It was actually not unlike a room one might create with furnishings from Target's Simply Shabby Chic line, but whereas I fucking hate that stupid Simply Shabby Chic line (although I don't remember seeing it lately; I hope they got rid of it), my awesome dream bedroom just worked. I had this sweet knick-knack shelf system on the wall behind my bed, and all my knick-knacks were also pale pink and white, except for this one little space where something neon pink and orange was hanging. It sounds horrible, but it was actually really pretty. My subconscious is the best interior decorator, I swear. One of you made a post recently that got me thinking about all the different school anxiety dreams I've had--and there have been many, none recurring--and how my subconscious usually doesn't come up with very interesting plots for them, but it always provides me with a brand new setting. The most memorable, I think, was one I had many years ago. I think the room I got lost for hours trying to find and eventually ended up in was based on my seventh-grade science classroom, except its ceiling was at least twice as high and there was a little rectangular alcove only a few feet wide that was stuffed all the way to the top with bedding. Like, quilts and pillows. And I think there were people stuffed in there too? Maybe I was supposed to get in there myself? It was much freakier than words can possibly describe.
On a completely unrelated note, the attentive reader of this journal will have noticed that my second-to-last post mentioned my car dying, and my last post was about my adventures in driving all over the Twin Cities. I am now going to reconcile this apparent contradiction! My van, the one that helped me move to Atlanta and back four times and once took clodia_risa and me almost to New Mexico in about a day and a half, is dead. I thought I had just hit something and gotten a flat tire, although I couldn't tell because it was dark and there were moving cars all around me, so I thought about what a mature, independent woman such as myself might do in a situation like that and then called my father in tears instead. He showed up, the police showed up, a tow truck AAA sent showed up, it turned out the transmission had totally crapped out, I was suddenly car-free. I mean, sure, it had its share of dents (although none made by me), the clip that held the driver's side visor in place was broken, the front bumper sort of had a rip in the bottom and dragged on the ground, one of the taillights was covered with translucent tape instead of glass, the windshield wipers had been a ragged, ripped mess ever since I pried them off the windshield on a particularly icy morning, the back hatch didn't open, and one of the side mirrors was missing, but I loved that car, dammit! So it was very sad. But then the coincidence fairy smiled upon me.
In November or so of last year, my grandma was looking at senior living communities, since being 85 and living on your own sixty miles from the rest of your family is only fun for so long. Then, just after Thanksgiving, she got mysteriously sick. It turned out that she had had a couple of small strokes. She had a stroke about five or ten years ago and bounced back completely from it, but instead of tempting fate again, she moved into the assisted living wing of one of the places she'd been looking at almost immediately. As this all happened very quickly and around Christmas, it was not a simple one-time move, so at the beginning of January there were still things left in her old apartment. None of it was stuff she was going to keep, though, so she and my mom and uncle and aunts decided to get together there to decide how to split it all up. Among other things she had left behind was her car, which my uncle was going to hold on to until somebody from the family decided to buy it, and if nobody did, he was going to sell it. So since he was planning to be there anyway, that was the day he was going to pick it up. The day they decided to get together was January 10th.
As the attentive reader of this journal will recall, my car broke down on January 9th.
I didn't want to buy the car at first. It was a beige Buick Century, the brakes weren't nearly as responsive as what I was used to, and the radio sometimes got a little muffled, so that the singers all sounded like they had lisps. But then I thought about how much money it would cost to buy a new car, and how I knew for a fact that the Buick had actually been owned by a little old lady (even though she used it for more than just shopping on Sundays), and I took it. It pretty much cleaned out my bank account, but I didn't have to take out a loan or even save up for it, and I've been working an obscene amount of overtime anyway, so. Now I own a car. It's kind of crazy, actually. I don't love it yet. I'm not even particularly fond of it, although I'm much more used to it now. But it does get me from Point A to Point B efficiently, which is more than I can say for the van at the moment, so I guess there's that.
Link!
Actually, I have a feeling that if I ate it, it would be my last meal whether I wanted it to be or not.
I had my first lucid dream last night! I didn't do anything really fun, though, because I was too afraid that any sudden movements would wake me up. Even when I'm asleep I remember how much I hate waking up in the middle of the night, apparently. Mostly I just had a party with a bunch of people I didn't know in my super-awesome dream bedroom. Seriously, guys, this bedroom was hardcore. It was mostly pale pink and white, and obscenely frilly. It was actually not unlike a room one might create with furnishings from Target's Simply Shabby Chic line, but whereas I fucking hate that stupid Simply Shabby Chic line (although I don't remember seeing it lately; I hope they got rid of it), my awesome dream bedroom just worked. I had this sweet knick-knack shelf system on the wall behind my bed, and all my knick-knacks were also pale pink and white, except for this one little space where something neon pink and orange was hanging. It sounds horrible, but it was actually really pretty. My subconscious is the best interior decorator, I swear. One of you made a post recently that got me thinking about all the different school anxiety dreams I've had--and there have been many, none recurring--and how my subconscious usually doesn't come up with very interesting plots for them, but it always provides me with a brand new setting. The most memorable, I think, was one I had many years ago. I think the room I got lost for hours trying to find and eventually ended up in was based on my seventh-grade science classroom, except its ceiling was at least twice as high and there was a little rectangular alcove only a few feet wide that was stuffed all the way to the top with bedding. Like, quilts and pillows. And I think there were people stuffed in there too? Maybe I was supposed to get in there myself? It was much freakier than words can possibly describe.
On a completely unrelated note, the attentive reader of this journal will have noticed that my second-to-last post mentioned my car dying, and my last post was about my adventures in driving all over the Twin Cities. I am now going to reconcile this apparent contradiction! My van, the one that helped me move to Atlanta and back four times and once took clodia_risa and me almost to New Mexico in about a day and a half, is dead. I thought I had just hit something and gotten a flat tire, although I couldn't tell because it was dark and there were moving cars all around me, so I thought about what a mature, independent woman such as myself might do in a situation like that and then called my father in tears instead. He showed up, the police showed up, a tow truck AAA sent showed up, it turned out the transmission had totally crapped out, I was suddenly car-free. I mean, sure, it had its share of dents (although none made by me), the clip that held the driver's side visor in place was broken, the front bumper sort of had a rip in the bottom and dragged on the ground, one of the taillights was covered with translucent tape instead of glass, the windshield wipers had been a ragged, ripped mess ever since I pried them off the windshield on a particularly icy morning, the back hatch didn't open, and one of the side mirrors was missing, but I loved that car, dammit! So it was very sad. But then the coincidence fairy smiled upon me.
In November or so of last year, my grandma was looking at senior living communities, since being 85 and living on your own sixty miles from the rest of your family is only fun for so long. Then, just after Thanksgiving, she got mysteriously sick. It turned out that she had had a couple of small strokes. She had a stroke about five or ten years ago and bounced back completely from it, but instead of tempting fate again, she moved into the assisted living wing of one of the places she'd been looking at almost immediately. As this all happened very quickly and around Christmas, it was not a simple one-time move, so at the beginning of January there were still things left in her old apartment. None of it was stuff she was going to keep, though, so she and my mom and uncle and aunts decided to get together there to decide how to split it all up. Among other things she had left behind was her car, which my uncle was going to hold on to until somebody from the family decided to buy it, and if nobody did, he was going to sell it. So since he was planning to be there anyway, that was the day he was going to pick it up. The day they decided to get together was January 10th.
As the attentive reader of this journal will recall, my car broke down on January 9th.
I didn't want to buy the car at first. It was a beige Buick Century, the brakes weren't nearly as responsive as what I was used to, and the radio sometimes got a little muffled, so that the singers all sounded like they had lisps. But then I thought about how much money it would cost to buy a new car, and how I knew for a fact that the Buick had actually been owned by a little old lady (even though she used it for more than just shopping on Sundays), and I took it. It pretty much cleaned out my bank account, but I didn't have to take out a loan or even save up for it, and I've been working an obscene amount of overtime anyway, so. Now I own a car. It's kind of crazy, actually. I don't love it yet. I'm not even particularly fond of it, although I'm much more used to it now. But it does get me from Point A to Point B efficiently, which is more than I can say for the van at the moment, so I guess there's that.