Uh oh, look who’s got a case of the Mondays!

Not me, that’s for sure. I mean, seriously, who gives a shit? Not us unemployable types, that’s for sure.

But all seriousness aside, I am not feeling wonderful at the moment. Had one of my signature artisan customized on demand buzzword periods of deep intense dream filled sleep, complete with the sensation of dreams becoming more real than reality, waking up sweaty and dehydrated and disoriented and hypoglycemic, and the resultant stumbling around the apartment like a zombie while I try to put together some food and a nice tall glass of water so I can collapse in front of Netflix and try to put my brains back together.

And all for only the low, low price of daring to fall asleep as a fucked up freaky fat guy. Why, with a deal like that, you can’t afford not to sleep!

No, seriously, you can’t. SLeep dep can drive you organically insane. Holes in your brain and all. Sleep!

Honestly, I could use a few more centuries of eldritch slumber, but I should really get today’s writing done first, and guess what? You’re looking at it.

Thanks for that, by the way.

Had a very nice evening with my roomie Joe’s family last night. We chatted, had a lovely Xmas dinner with all the usual traditional accoutrements (including homemade cranberry sauce with orange zest added… was quite good, and I don’t normally care for cranberry sauce), played a few games of Guillotine with Joe and his sister Melanie. A pleasant and very normal evening.

I like visiting normalcy now and then. Helps me refuel my small sanity batteries and have them ready for those rare moments when I grow tired of being such an unnatural phenomenon and need to give it a rest.

Most of the time, honestly, it’s not exactly voluntary. I was born weird. I was a weird baby, quiet and contemplative and charming to strangers.

Yes, apparently you can be a charming baby. I was a darn cute kid, if I say so myself. Redheaded, freckle faced, precocious, a little eccentric, a little chubby. No wonder I kept ending up getting my picture in the local paper. I was positively photogenic.

Looking back, life was pretty decent until I had to go to school. I was the center of attention some of the time. My mother was around more. I had friends.

But then school took friends and siblings and left me with a babysitter and nobody else, and then school came along and the bullying, overperforming, boredom, terror, and isolation really began.

Hard to imagine that the teachers didn’t seem to see the fact that I actively avoided my fellow students as a problem, doesn’t it? But I was nobody’s particular responsibility. The homeroom teachers I had were not the same teachers who oversaw the playground, and in general, I was not bullied in class. In class, I was merely bored and showed it, something I regret now.

Doing the work with such open (if quiet) contempt was, shall we say, a bad move politically speaking.

Well, the last bout of Too Strong Dreaming did at least produce some interesting dream material. In one dream, I was in some sort of Presidential process, like he was going through town in a slow-moving convertible but the rest of us in his entourage were following on foot, one line of us on each side of the street.

And for some reason, I felt incredibly nervous and out of place. I knew that everyone around me thought I did not deserve to be there and thought I was a total joke and resented me for even daring to be there.

At one point, I even, to my horror, discovered that my nervousness had caused me to piss myself, the urine going down my leg and out onto the street with a humiliating (and honestly, illogical) distinctive piddling sound.

(I am so glad that has never happened to me in the real world. The horror. )

Everyone laughed at my so soiling myself, of course, especially the butch Secret Service types.

But then, the procession suddenly stopped because there was this crazy guy with body armor and a lot of weapons blocking the way, threatening to kill the President and as many of the rest of us as he could while ranting and raving and carrying on like a loon.

I find it interesting that in the dream, I was quite clear about what side I was on. I think I might have been some kind of Loyalist or something. It is not at all clear that this was a democratically elected President. I get the distinct impression I was the sort of person who identifies with the people in power and considers himself their servant, like that’s a good thing. Weird.

Anyhow, so there’s the crazy dude and everyone is tense and scared, The Secret Service types were all pinned down or something, and I suddenly realized that I had to save the day. I would show them all and prove I was a hero. They had given me a gun more as a joke than anything else, but I would use it to save the day and prove to all the people who laughed at me just what I was truly made of.

So I sneaked closer and closer, not very well I must say, but Ranting Dude was not paying attention to underlings like myself. And I kept getting closer, and aiming my gun (also badly… clearly I had no training in it whatsoever, but I grasped the idea of using the sights), but then deciding I was only going to get one shot so I better make sure I hit, so then I would creep closer.

The last thing I remember in the dream is finally being in position, and trying to take the guy out, but my gun wouldn’t fire, even after I belatedly remembered to take the safety off. I thought to myself “Of course, those asshoels gave me a piece of shit gun that doesn’t work because they have no respect for me. ”

I was one messed up guy in that dream.

Well, enough for now. More sleep. Seeya tomorrow, and happy Boxing Day, all.