No rest for the wicked they say, well I'd say no rest for the kind. No sleep and more work, slaving over the hot stove, which is the desk. The hard wooden desks, and the leather chairs, faux. Busy ramming my face into books, and all I get is papercuts, and if I say 'ow' the librian's head pops up and if eyes were shooters, I'd be dead.
I have learnt nothing I didn't know already and I am dumb, believe me. I am very dumb, but not stupid.
I know what it feels like to have severe lack of sleep, its a relief when its all over and things settle down or turn around, and its slow, isn't it. It was not medication, but I feel for you Light Housework.
I will tell you about elements of my dreams, they always feature transport, or train stations, running, movement and transition, travelling and transactions. I always seem to be going somewhere, and its like I am constantly in subliminal spaces and things are glimpsed and then vanish. There is one part of a dream I remember a few years ago. There was a green (a large area of grass and land, usually surrounded by houses and residential araes) where I grew up, the road passes around it. There was a bike or something travelling and I remember it moving along the road and disappearing from slight under the edge of the green out of my sight, just in a second and it was like it had never been there but there was a stillness left behind it and I remember it very clearly, its like it pierced the area and then went.
That reminds me, I also contacted the council about bike storage, because there was nowhere to leave my bicycle, there is a bad theif problem where I live. They listened to me, and this is the city council, so I am actually pretty shocked, and chuffed. They have actually included bike hangers in there LEVELLING UP campain, and new bike hangers are popping up everywhere! Keir Starmer is my local MP, so unlucky, and strange. I thought I'd contact him because if he sorted out the bike problem in my area, I probally would vote for him. I'm not going to vote for him, even if he did influence the increase in bike storage, I have never voted. I feel more in touch with the foxes in my neighbourhood at the moment than any of the goverment manifestos.
You must not let your towels run the risk of moulding, laundry time is intense and time of the essence, you need to be like lightning. You need to be tough and ask them if they could politely chivvy along if they are blissfully obscuring the dryer.
Please share your dreams, I've read some Freud but cannot promise my interpreations would be accurate but yours might be.
I took the clothes out of the dryer and put them on a counter. They were all black women’s clothes. I hoped she wouldn’t be angry and spiteful when she finally came to collect them. My clothes are now dry. It took over three hours from start to finish and I haven’t even put them away yet. That’s not counting the couple of hours I had to do other things while waiting for her to transfer her clothes from the washer to the dryer, so I could finally use the washer. So probably a total of about 5 hours were spent keeping an eye on laundry machines’ timing.
My dreams are usually with me living temporarily at others’ mercy. I had a dream I was back with an ex boyfriend who was very selfish and quite abusive. In waking hours I spend little time thinking about him, but I dream I’m dependant on his approval for a place to live temporarily, about every month. I’m never happy to be with him, but I make the best of it by trying not to piss him off. He’s paralyzed from the waist down, and dependant on a wheelchair. He got drunk and blacked out on his bicycle and broke his spinal cord when he was in his early 20’s. He would be about 65 now. People have always found him attractive. He probably still has people slaving for him, wanting to be in his life. With his dogs and his girlfriends though, he’s tended to be cruel. There was a time I wished for death because I was in a city with him where I knew no one and whenever we were alone in the apartment he called me “f***ing bitch” and things like that, and told me what he wanted. I was a slave, an unpaid slave, and he wasn’t even feeding me, though he had me make him toast and peanut butter often. Eventually I found a stripping job in that city, and started bringing in a little money, and he stopped calling me names, but I never forgot how he made me wish I were dead for weeks while I didn’t have a job, and the next time he got physically violent with me…he yanked my head down by my long hair, I crept up behind him and took a lock of his hair at the back of his head, and I gently pulled downward, and he fell backward, and alligatored it toward me but I made it out the door before he could reach me. When I returned, he was sitting on the couch watching the news, and he never touched me again. That was the first time I’d done anything retaliatory to him, and I spent 7 years with him. He never even said anything mean to me after that. He moved back to our city of origin, Montreal, and I stayed in British Columbia by myself. His best friend ended up with me, for 5 years. They met in the spinal cord injury hospital. He broke his neck and was partially a quadriplegic. His spinal cord wasn’t completely severed, so he could still walk, a bit floppily, and he could still have sex and control his bladder and bowels. It took him 5 years to get through to me that he wasn’t kind either and was quite abusive, mainly with his words. After 5 years, I felt nothing toward him but that he was a dildo to me, nothing more, and I deliberately bored him so he’d let me go, because he threatened me that he’d hurt the guy I was interested in being with, if I left him. So I bored him and flirted with every man I came across who seemed open to it, to confuse him, and eventually he threw up his hands wondering why he was holding on to me. I dream about him sometimes. He’s a familiar figure when I dream about him. When I’m awake, I know I dislike him. I dislike all of my exes.
I haven’t dreamt of a dog I had for nearly 14 years, for a while. When I would dream of him, I’d say to myself that I must be dreaming, but there he was and I could feel his fur on my hand, and was amazed that though I knew he had died, there he was, as real as real can be, and I’d be glad to pet him. It’s been a while since I’ve had such a dream.
I once dreamt Morrissey chased me down and broke a tube and made me inhale it’s fumes, which got me high, and I thanked him, as I knew he was performing an intervention, snapping me out my depression. I then joked around with a bunch of people at a table, and a guy said “You’re talking.”, as if to accuse me of unwanted behaviour. Morrissey was off in another room, and when he re-entered the room, he looked at me, and left the room again. I was left with a lot of people I didn’t know, surrounded by drinks and desserts. I had been happy until that guy said “You’re talking.”. I became melancholy after that, with Morrissey making himself unavailable to me.
I often have dreams of being homeless and wondering where my belongings are, staying in homeless shelters.
gosh, I love dougie. No, he doesn't get called dougie, except by me and the trigger boys (but never in his presence!)
