Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Those are really small

My feet, that is. And they are small. Tiny in fact. Which is ironic, how you focus on how small they are, and how cute they are, and how much you like their smallness. Especially when you consider that I'm about the biggest thing around. Everything else about me is huge. My opinions. My size. My attitude. The only thing small about me are my feet, and you focus on them, constantly.

Don't get me wrong. I like my feet. They certainly make it easier to find and buy shoes. Being a regular size in shoes is handy. I have friends who have exceptionally long feet, or exceptionally wide feet, and it's a pain in the ass for them. But not for me. I fit into socks and shoes wonderfully.

And as a result, I have a lot of shoes. And a lot of cute socks.

But not clothes. Not cars. Not chairs. Not anything else. Because everything else about me is huge.

But you love my feet. Because they're so small. So why on earth do you like me? I'm certainly not small like my feet...

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Thoughts?

Scene set with eleven unidentified people. Some sort of ceremony is taking place, there's an altar at the front with these eleven chairs around a table. I'm carrying what I know is a one and a half foot tall, half foot wide ceremonial plaque of some sort, that's light wood, with the word "Tuesday" in Chinese script emblazed on it. Black on white, with a satin bow at the top of the plaque in red satin. I'm carrying the board to the altar, to put in it's position when someone (male someone) wants to double-check something on the plaque. I take it over to him, I have never removed my hand from it, and when he looks at it, there's great gasping and immediate fear around the table because the plaque is no longer black on white with "Tuesday" on it, now it's white on black, with "Wednesday" in Chinese script, with white lace covering the board. Everyone is upset, and scrambling to get away from the plaque, and by extension to get away from me, for I've obviously done something heinous to cause the gods to change the board I'm carrying which I never got put into place on time. Now there are only four chairs remaining, and they're empty.

Scene change to a street that I know I've seen before, a street I normally cross in the dream. But the avenue is gone. It's covered by fallen trees that are crossing back and forth across what's turned into a muddy/dirty river of some sort. Left with no other choices for crossing, I begin to walk across on the top of a fallen tree. When I reach the center, the trees tumble into the water below, leaving me drowning. And I know I'm drowning. I'm fully dressed, and I know from instinct that even dressed, I can swim back to the top of the water. And I do. I push upwards, until my face breaks the waterline, and I can breathe again. I look around, to grab ahold of something, and someone from off to one side says "I'm dead, but I've gone home". I'm frantically trying to understand, to find that voice, and then I woke up...


Anybody have thoughts on this as a translation of a weird dream?

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

I can't sleep. It's freaking one a.m., and I can't sleep. I *want* to be tired. But I'm not. I'm restless. Again.

What's going on these days? Let's see. Went to Nevada, my mom got married. Stayed in a posh hotel. Ate decent food. Even got a night in a posh suite at the posh hotel. Nice. Came home. Still restless. Stomach is upset. Stomach's been upset. *Still* freaking kicking the stupid birth control hormones out of my system.

Haven't seen my best friend in weeks, because either she's sick, or I'm sick, or neither of us is sick, but neither can drive. Her truck's engine took a dump. My seizures are preventing me from being comfortable behind the wheel.

Been fighting with the SO on a regular basis, because I'm restless and PMS'ing, none of which is his fault, but I can't turn the stupid switch inside my head off. My speech is scattered, my headaches are ongoing, and my cat is stupid.

Well, my cat is always stupid.

I'm going to go and sulk off somewhere in oblivion. Oh wait, can't, my stupid Xbox 360 is broken, and Microsoft are complete dickheads, which means they refuse to fix it, because they *think* someone tampered with it, because there's a scratch on the sticker behind the CHANGEABLE faceplate that implies someone might have opened the unit.

OK, rant over. Going to go and sulk elsewhere.

Update done for now. Back...tomorrow?