Had a dream last night that left me exhausted and feeling like oil on water when I woke up. I was in Kayenta a place I dream about it complete detail.
My past romantic boy objects had congregated. This jury consisted of every XY chromosone wielding creature I had ever lusted or pined for, including, Mr. Wood, my junior year great books teacher, and a boy I kissed in during a seventh grade game of truth an dare. Ex-beau Brian was even there with the new girl who has the body of a waifish prepubescent boy and does exist in real life. I felt like skinning them both and giving their pelts to cold children.
Then everyone in my life joined my vices for this made up card game that involved 52 blank, dog-eared and yellowing cards, and a number of small stones. No one wanted to play with me because they said twenty was still old. I left the mingling to eat blackberries and chocolate in my kitchen with what presumable a six feet under character a nd cry dream tears.
Through out the entire dream I was plagued by bad clothes. Horrible white lace pantaloons that bunched at my ankles. Blue pilly sweaty I wore over stripped date-rapist polos. I didn't want the posse to see me in my awful digs.
George Micheal, of WHAM! fame, also made an apperance. He was working on machines and vehicals of great military importance and wanted to be my friend until I spilt potatoe and tomato stew all over his much nicer pants.
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2 comments:
hmm. rife judgment, to be sure.
methinks you are conflicted in more ways than one.
Stop making me cackle in the computer lab. I have some real pissy sentiment regarding new girlfriends of ex-flames if you want to have a flame fest later.
YES FOOD MATTERS AND SINEAD WHEN I GET BACK!!! I will make raw hors d'ouerves and we can feel good about ourselves while David Wolfe admonishes the masses/while Bb Sinead takes it up the ass. Can't wait, chiquita.
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