Tell you right now

Someone was missing out. Or something. There was so much liquor I can’t even think straight. Thankfully the world isn’t spinning but I’m fairly sure for Aaron the world is spinning the hell out. Hoping to hell that tomorrow won’t be so bad. Like, get a hold of ourselves and not drink ourselves to silliness. Or something. Always fun to watch Aaron get fucked up. Amusing stuff. I know it sounded amusing over the phone. I think. Here’s to tomorrow in an attempt to fuck him over while I stay sober.

Erase and rewind.

I’d like to start over. Everything.

But at the same time, I’ve already fallen down this rabbit hole, why not see just how deep it goes.

Barber dream.

I am now convinced my dreams are not meant to make sense. At all.

Last night involved wandering in a hospital, only to bump into Stella’s nonexistent sister (I know she has a sister, but this wasn’t her!), who turned out to be a nurse, or a doctor in said hospital. All fine and dandy, I got a walking tour of the place, and got led to a barbershop. In the hospital. Who runs a barbershop IN a hospital?

It only got more surreal from this point on as I got led by a hairstylist out of the barbershop, up and down escalators into what looked like a section of a mall that’s closed, towards a shop that looked as if it was selling massage chairs. If the shop was open. Which it wasn’t. It was like a facade to another barbershop.

So I got my hair cut. Don’t remember how it was. Not sure I want to remember. The dream goes on to even weirder heights as I step out of that massage-chair-facade place to find an indoor soccer field. With kids.

When I woke up it was really just one of “WTF was that” moments.

I think it’s a sign that I should get a haircut.

Trends

Threw in the blog’s feed into Wordle only to find that Gan must’ve been typed out a fuck lot because his name jumps right out more than anything else. Nice to know I have a healthy obsession with him

What’s up with that.

I had another weird dream today.

Involving a field trip, rollerblades, roller hockey and wearing a a Swiss ball with protruding rubber spikes as a suit. No, it didn’t make sense. Especially when an instructor all suited up in one came to attempt to explain how to play only to get told to explain it to smaller kids, who didn’t seem too interested in the nuances of playing roller hockey while wearing a swiss ball.

Really, what in the world is the significance of a man in a Swiss ball wearing rollerblades. Sometimes I wish my dreams were a little more tame.

Bugs me.

The dreams I get just tend to get stranger and stranger each passing day. I’d like to think they have no meaning to them, that they are just manifestations of what I was thinking of the day before.

This one hardly had anything to do with what happened the day before and most of my dreams have this tendency of becoming reality.

I hope this one doesn’t become real because it involved bugs the size of my fist. That’s just freaky. It also involved sleeping with people I know. Which isn’t so freaky, but I have enough awkwardness in my life that I really don’t need it getting even more awkward.

Fuck me my dreams really do bug me.

Dreamt

Being kissed by someone I barely knew
Shooting someone with a speargun to an inch of their life.
These are the dreams I had and I’m hoping as with some of my dreams they don’t come to life.

I hear sounds

I hear sounds
when there is nothing to hear.
I hear a theme song playing,
and it creeps me out

Stickers and me.

I’ve never really understood stickers.

Or maybe I have, but they don’t mesh with me.

The thought of putting stickers on something, anything, isn’t exactly disturbing, but I hate the thought of how everything around me isn’t permanent and should I ditch something and the sticker is on it, that sticker is going along for that ride.

Like how I could slap on stickers on my laptop but I know down the line, like many years from now it’ll be old and I’ll have to get rid of it. Along with the stickers.

Maybe I’m giving too much weight to pieces of paper with a sticky side to them.

Stickers are in themselves, expendable. Which is really the problem in the first place since I’m such a pack rat. I can’t quite bear the thought of actually using them and like, that’s it.

I really should get over this obsession. Stickers are expendable, as is everything else around me. I can say that as many times as I can, but whether I’ll eventually let it get to me that they are meant to be used.

I’m obsessing. It’s terrible. Especially when there are even more important things to consider than pieces of paper meant to prettify things.

Growing your homegrown phobia.

I only knew I was afraid of heights when I stare down a balcony 5 floors up and wonder what it would take to fling me over it.

Ever since then any balcony I am on with a reasonable height from the ground I start imagining what it must be like to fall. Or have someone just swipe me by the legs and toss me over.

Now even looking out the airplane window makes me panic.