My brain? HATES me.

[trinityofone]

So last night I dreamt:

*Long, extended nightmare about spiders*

*Blissful couple of seconds in which I am following one Lt. Col. John Sheppard around a supermarket. Slowly, he turns and smiles at me...*

Person I used to know and have absolutely no desire to see ever again: Hey, look who it is! It's trinityofone!

Another person I used to know and have absolutely no desire to see ever again: You look really weird. Are you sick?

Yet another person I...you get the picture: Why are you wearing pajamas?

Person I used to know, had a humongous crush on, and was spurned by: Hey, that guy you were with just shrugged his shoulders and left.

CUT TO:

*Me, in the kitchen of our old house in Vermont, hitting a raw egg with a tennis racket*

WHAT? What does that even mean? Where does something like that come from? Is it a metaphor? I'm confused.

In other, positive, news, I quit my job. Wheeeee!

Music choice a joke no one will get, except maybe psychopepsquad, but only if she's really paying attention. And on crack.

Comments

[trinityofone.livejournal.com]

This is my brain on Barnes & Noble and lack of sleep, more like. What do you do to get nice mountaintop dreams? I want one of those.

[sonofzeal.livejournal.com]

Well, for one, I live in a state with clearly visable snow capped mountains that is covered in trees. As for lifestyle, I wake up every morning, spend the day at Nintendo testing (which I insist is a real job, and not a sham to get people to pay me to play video games ;) ) go home, catch up on stuff online, take a nice walk with some tunes, have dinner and do some creative writting. Rinse, repeat. Good luck!