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waking hours background information

Me and Housemate G haven't exactly been getting on recently. For something like the last six months. A keen historian might notice a link between the time this started and the time that he met his now ex-girlfriend, J, who quickly became my best girl friend. Note the space between 'girl' and 'friend'. So we live together but trying to get a conversation from him is monosyllabic at best. I'm moving out next week but up until now we have been tolerating each other with a black cloud of tension hanging over any room that we're both in - tension entirely from him, I might add. I've been nice and doing the usual stuff that I'd do for anyone. For example, if I'm going to wash some clothes and he's left some of his in the machine, I'll peg them out for him rather than leave them in the wash out-basket, damp. Stuff like that. But somehow I've become the Housemate From Hell. Any 'hoo'...

mid-afternoon sleeping after a heavy night of booze

G was getting his shoes on to go up to J's house and he gave me a dagger-filled stare as I came in the kitchen. As usual I asked him what was up, and as usual he mumbled a "Nuthin'...". Unusually, this time I just hit the roof. I went nuts and started shouting at him big time. Asking why if nothing is up, why does he look as if he wants to kill me most of the time while peppering my questions with cursing and punching the air with anger.

This carried on. He left and I chased him up the road to J's house, demanding to have my questions answered. J wasn't happy at all, having a full-blown row going on in her living room which calmed my tone of voice down while still wanting an explanation for G's "childish and fucking stupid problems". Still nothing much in the way of a response and I gave up. I threw my hands in the air and tutted at him, leaving by the front door.

But. Across the street was a park bench that was never there before. Sitting on it was my mum and sister while a fat guy with a hot-dog stand and a moustache stood behind them, offering them dry pizza bases with spoonfuls of my home-made chili on them. I stood and watched while G and J came to see too, neither my mother or sister acknowledged my presence, they just kept eating these triangles of chili pizza while talking amongst each other. The guy grinned and winked at me.

I put my hands on my hips, turned to G and said:

"This is a fucking dream, isn't it?"

G nodded and smiled a smile that said 'Yep. And now I'll have an apology if you don't mind'. I sat down on the step, sighed and disappeared, leaping from one plain of consciousness back to my bed, eyes wide open and confused - spending a couple of minutes wondering if what happened really had just happened, caught in limbo betweeen my surreal dream-world and cold, harsh reality. Aah. Melodrama. :)

Don't you just hate it when that happens?

The dream always starts with me at Thanksgiving dinner with my family. I'm in Colorado, I have a wife and two children, and we're eating at my sister's place. My mother, father, aunt and uncle, and my sister's family are there.

Just after dinner starts, the phone rings. It's my office. They tell me the Attorney General has just been assassinated.

I am the director of the FBI, and the Attorney General is my best friend Dave.

I ask for details with disbelief, and after I've been properly briefed, I hang up the phone. Then I pick up the receiver and slam it down, again and again. I pick up the phone and throw it across the kitchen. I kick a cabinet and break it. I throw a stack of plates across the room.

I storm into the dining room where my family is giving me horrified looks. I stalk upstairs to pack my bag, I'm getting on the next flight to Washington.

My wife comes upstairs and asks what's wrong. I tell her Dave's dead and begin crying. She holds me in her arms and I cry a little longer. Then I pull myself together and tell her I have to go. I finish packing and walk downstairs.

I tell my family about Dave, and my mother begins to cry. He was like another son to her when we were in high school.

Then I walk out the door, and usually wake up in a cold sweat. Every night for a week I've been having this dream.

I was at my boyfriend's house, only he lived in this large mansion and we were there alone for some time. He was really snobby in the dream and didn't want to be around me, or at least thought that we shouldn't be together in the dream because I was being affectionate towards him and he had an idea that other people would dissaprove of this. So eventually, his mother came home and we were sent outside to clean his backyard. It was dirty and swampy. And there were lots of dirty toys on the ground.

He said his cousins had been there the other day and these were their toys. So his mom came outside and I hide behind one of those playhouses for toddlers while they talk off in the distance. She is telling him that she wants me to leave because of my foul mouth and the way I am always saying "crap" instead of "poop."

After the conversation is over, I follow him inside where he goes to his bedroom, lays on the floor, and plays Toe Jam and Earl. The room looks like my old bedroom from when I was nine, and the television set is on a dresser high up. It is dark in his room. I lay down next to him but he tells me not to. He doesn't want to be seen with me. So I have to leave the room and wander around his house, lonely. The entire dream, I am thinking about spaghetti. I wake up.

I walk into a McDonald's. It is very strangely laid out: there seem to be two ordering counters, one on one side of the building with the customary eating area in front of it, the other on the other side, with no eating area, just a few feet between it and the wall. The two are connected by a narrow passageway with a few tables in it.

As if that's not odd enough, the small one has a lot of clear Visqueen-type plastic draped all over it, as though some kind of construction work is being done, and the place is generally a mess.

I walk around to the more airy side, but for some reason, I don't seem to be able to order there. Confused, I'm walking down the passageway to try my luck in the construction zone, when I hear an employee calling out "Yerricide!" in an attempt to deliver food to someone.

I'm just walking past a customer seated at one of the passageway tables when he indicates that the order belongs to him. The employee leaves it with him. The man has a large cardboard placard with a lot of handwriting on it, with his name in larger letters in the middle. I can't quite make out what it says exactly, and he puts it on the bench next to him where I can't see it anymore.

So I ask him, "How many I's are there in your name?". He laughs and says, "One". "I thought so", I reply. "I'm C-Dawg", expecting him to understand that that is my Everything2 handle. He says, "Hi, C-Dawg;" and gestures to his companion. "And this is Danielsen". I assume that that is another noder's handle, but I looked it up before I started writing this and there is no such person.

Despite the fact that this is like no McDonald's I have (or anyone else has) ever seen, and the area outside is totally unfamiliar, I get the impression that we're in my very own town of Santa Barbara, CA, and that yerricde is just passing through. I look outside and see that there are a lot of backpacks and a few suitcases piled in the middle of the intersection. I somehow get the impression that a tour bus had stopped here, and that yerricde and Ms. Danielsen had gotten off of it. Apparently it was no longer part of the plans of anyone who had been a passenger.

Yerricde asks me some polite "Who are you and why are you here" type questions and we chatter for a moment. Then I continue on to the other side of the restaurant and order a breakfast burrito meal. Returning to the seating area, I feel no need to continue hobnobbing[1]; nor does Yerricde.

I take a seat and eventually a tray is delivered to me. Containing just two breakfast burritos, I ask the employee delivering it if this is what I paid seven dollars for. In the midst of that discussion, I wake up.

For the past month or so, I've been remembering some of my dreams, which before had been rather uncommon. Most of them have had something to do with my personal life, and in that way have made some sense (as far as dreams ever do make sense). This one breaks that pattern. I rarely eat at McDonald's, although I did once last week [WolfDaddy's fault :), though he didn't request it ]. I don't know yerricde, though we both attended Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology (with probably fifteen or twenty years intervening).

Now the question is, should I go back to bed? I have to get up in an hour...

[1] The Everything2 entry for hobnob by Webster1913 doesn't seem to include the meaning to chit-chat, which is what I always thought it meant.

It was the end of semester and I had an exam to do. The exam was a three question short essay deal, where we'd already seen the questions. My tutors and lecturer expected me to perform quite well, judging on my past efforts. I spent most of my time leading up to the exam studying in the university library.

A day before the exam I came home to find the house empty. I could smell the blood, thick and acidic, from the moment I opened the front door. I didn't panic; on the contrary, I began an organised and efficient search of the house to find the source of the blood smell.

I instinctively knew that I would find my sister, arkaem, dead. I knew that she had been killed by a being in a dark cloak who had done this many times before. Locked windows and doors weren't a hindrance to him, he could imagine himself through walls to get to those he chose. Just before I entered a room, the blood in the area would disappear, as if to deny that anything untoward had ever happened there.

I found arkaem dead in a pantry, shoved into a shelf. She was wearing her "laser-proof pyjamas" and had white, white hair. I lifted her down and we started talking. We both knew she was dead, but it was okay. We knew we had some time before she had to go.

I spent the rest of the day in a trance, and I had to leave arkaem at home while I went to work and to university. I was upset that I had to leave her as I knew we were running out of time; soon I wouldn't be able to see her again. I walked around crying and shuffling through the day, destroyed.

I told people that I was crying so much because my sister had been murdered by a serial killer. My boss nodded sympathetically and told me that the salmon roulade was to go out before, not after, the bruschetta. I did my exam, crying throughout, afterwards explaining to the lecturer that my sister was dead and I didn't go as well as I could have on the test. She was quite kind, and let me go home to be with my sister.

When I got home my sister was fading, her hair growing whiter by the second, her skin falling away to reveal her skeleton. We hugged and sobbed as we clung to each other.

I woke up sobbing, and couldn't stop. I called my sister and found out she was okay, reassuring me that it was only a dream. For those few moments sandwiched between being asleep and awake, I was so lonely and heartbroken. It was awful.
DMT Flight Failure

  • I'm standing in the quad next to the flag pole of my elementary school; on one side is a grassy slope and cement bleachers on the other. It becomes a lucid dream and I look at my hands and wiggle my fingers in order to hold onto the awareness. I decide that I want to fly but there are doubts in my head and all of my attempts fail. Though quite aware that my failure is a result of my doubts, I can't seem to gather enough will power to keep myself aloft. Remembering that flying is easier for me when I jump from a high place, I go up to the roof that overlooks the quad. There I meet a bunch of people sitting in lawn chairs and smoking something. I ask someone what it is and she says, "DMT. You want some?" Of course I do. Since it's still a lucid dream, I wonder about what the dream-simulated psychedelic effects are going to be since I've never actually smoked DMT before. Someone freebases the fine white powder for me on a sheet of aluminum foil and I inhale it through a straw. It just gets me stoned and the lucidity disperses as I forget about my flying plans and return to the quad. There I meet my friend's girlfriend, Nicole. The dream fades away on two simultaneous visions: A love scene with Nicole; putting on a black condom.

I had a dream that I was at a dark alley where illegal Asian chiropractitioners were fixing eachother's back, and I had mine fixed too, and it was the greatest feeling!

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