It has been an odd night. I was asked a few days ago to attend a wine tasting dinner for a client tonight, for the purpose of snapping pictures for their website. Last night, an emergency came up that I had to drive out to State College--several hours away--to deal with. I left at 10pm, and didn't get back until ~4am. Then I got up around 9am. For five hours, I dreamed one of my few recurring dreams:
There's a midget who has, in some way, screwed something up, and I'm chasing him around the room trying to catch him so I can throttle the little fucker. He's hiding under my bed, he hops up on top of the bookshelf, he burrows under the junk at the back of the closet, and I'm tearing up everything trying to catch him--furniture overturned, clothes everywhere, garbage can knocked across the floor. Finally I catch him, and I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he's dead. At which point, I realize he's not some midget--he's my brother, or my mom, or someone else I know. This is around the time that I wake up. (My subconscious has all the subtlety of an axe to the forehead.)
Days when I wake up to this dream are not great days. So after trying to fix another client's computer (the RAM that came in the mail, which I was supposed to install, was completely fried), depositing a check, and getting all gussied up, I sped off to this wine dinner, where I spent the evening getting sloshed on good wine and swapping stories with socialites. And right now, I can't remember a damn thing I said, because I spent the entire time thinking about that fucking midget.
On the way home, I stopped by the store and dropped ten bucks on pizza rolls and French silk pie. My plan is to gorge myself and argue on the internet until my brains pour out of my ears.
There's a midget who has, in some way, screwed something up, and I'm chasing him around the room trying to catch him so I can throttle the little fucker. He's hiding under my bed, he hops up on top of the bookshelf, he burrows under the junk at the back of the closet, and I'm tearing up everything trying to catch him--furniture overturned, clothes everywhere, garbage can knocked across the floor. Finally I catch him, and I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he's dead. At which point, I realize he's not some midget--he's my brother, or my mom, or someone else I know. This is around the time that I wake up. (My subconscious has all the subtlety of an axe to the forehead.)
Days when I wake up to this dream are not great days. So after trying to fix another client's computer (the RAM that came in the mail, which I was supposed to install, was completely fried), depositing a check, and getting all gussied up, I sped off to this wine dinner, where I spent the evening getting sloshed on good wine and swapping stories with socialites. And right now, I can't remember a damn thing I said, because I spent the entire time thinking about that fucking midget.
On the way home, I stopped by the store and dropped ten bucks on pizza rolls and French silk pie. My plan is to gorge myself and argue on the internet until my brains pour out of my ears.