Words! Words! Words!

In my dreams last night, something horrible happened to me - I don't remember what it was, only that it left me with that defeated feeling I had that one time when my ex-husband and I were facing having to move into his parents' basement and give away our dogs.  I was powerless against this thing, whatever it was, and it broke me.  And then Murphy, the boss's dog at work, got hurt and had to be put down.  And then there were zombies.  And then Stacy was pregnant with a second baby, while still cooking this first one - her kids were destined to be only 6 months apart.  And then I touched a wounded naked man and felt a spark of connection, like he was tethered to my soul, and he told me the zombies were slow and were decaying rapidly.  He stared into my eyes, feeling what I felt, and I wanted to fuck him, but he was dying, so I kissed his lips softly then ran off to meet Jimi by the vintage hot rod hot naked man had left parked for us to find, with keys in the cup holder.  The car was a minty green, with woodgrain running boards, and it took forever to start, because it was a stick and I don't know how to drive a stick, and when I finally started it, I accidentally threw it into reverse and nearly crashed it, which would've meant certain death for me and Jimi.  I saved it just in time, though, and we drove off into the Sunday morning where I found myself awake and confused and wanting to go back to that place because I couldn't remember what that awful thing was that had happened to me at the beginning.  I dozed for another hour, searching for that place, that thing, while Jimi showered and started his day.  I'm still trying to remember what it was.

I'm tired.  I'm worn down.  I'm craving silence and my front porch and huge stretches of time where I have nothing to do and nowhere to be.  It's been a blast, but it's too much for this homebody who's used to turning out the lights at 10:30 every night.

It started the Thursday before the wedding, with a sort-of impromptu bachelor/bachelorette party; Melinda and Gary are both heavily involved with the Culbertson Mansion haunt every year, so checking out a few other haunted houses seemed only natural.  They both have lots of friends in the business, and it was neat to listen to them chat about the behind-the-scenes production details.  My favorite part was absolutely the pitch-black maze, where Melinda and I darted away from the boys and found ourselves lost and being taunted by a creepy voice whose body we ran into a few times but never saw.  We laughed so hard I'm surprised no one peed.  

Friday night was a house-warming party at friends' new home, Saturday was the rehearsal, and then the wedding on Sunday.  Monday was an off night, but Tuesday we went to visit a friend we'd not seen in (very nearly literally) years and I got drunk and fell asleep at her kitchen table, in that truly classy way of mine.  I did not fall down, though, nor did I throw up anywhere, so my faux pas could've been so much worse.  (I sent her a Facebook message the next morning, apologizing for being a drunken slore, and until this morning, I thought she'd ignored my message.  God Bless Facebook, though, it just didn't give me a notification that I had a new message from her - one that read "No worries. Hope I get to see you soon!".)  We did nothing on Wednesday, but Thursday we had Steve over for dinner and I made a (they tell me) delicious meatloaf and mashed taters and peas and we watched some horror flick called The Ugly.  Friday night...like the wedding, Friday night may need it's own post.  I met Sarah and Stacy for dinner, and after, Sarah and I met her friend Robby at Akiko's for karaoke.  Holy shitballs, what a great time I had!  Yesterday we had running to do, then a dinner party last night.  Today we've cleaned a little, and I'm leaving in a few to visit Brother.  

Come 4 o'clock, though, you'll find me on my ass, on my front porch, no bra, probably with a beer and a cigarette and a book, and please don't disturb me until it's time to watch The Walking Dead at 9 tonight, okay?  

And I'm not doing anything this week.  I'm going to come home and read the internet and go to bed at 9:30 every night.  

My God, when did I get so old?  And I'm socially awkward now, too, especially around people who don't already know and love me.  That probably is going to need its own post too.  

Happy Weekend!  May the rest of your Sunday pass slowly and leisurely, and may Monday be nice to you.  

Holy crap the sun's not even up yet!

It's twenty till six on Friday morning.  WTF?  In case you were wondering, if you need to start your period, GUARANTEED, tell the internet you're feeling yourself up because you can't tell if your boobs are sore or not.  Or take a pregnancy test.  Works.  Every fucking time.

So I'm going to go to work early.  Or I'm going to sit here and write some bullshit till it's time to go to work, and then I'll kick my own ass for not taking advantage of the fact that I was up at five till five this morning.  Well, if we're being honest, I was up at 4 - I just didn't get out of bed till almost five, when I'd finally gave up on getting back to that dream about ...  I can't remember anymore what that dream was about.  It was weird, though, and I wanted to see what happened.

I remember what I dreamed about before I woke yesterday morning, though.  Heather Donovan.  She was this geeky (before geeky was cool) chick who went to middle school with me - The Girls and I were tortuously mean to her.  We were in the sixth grade - as I remember it, sixth grade was pretty fucking awful.  (Except that I learned the word "fuck" in the sixth grade, so that's kinda cool.)  Sixth grade was full of awkwardness and not fitting it - a bunch of hormone-laden kids bouncing off one another and trying to figure out where they fit.  We all fell into our individual roles quickly enough - my role was outcast-wannabecoolkid.  Heather was like three rungs below me on the social hierarchy scale.  She wore blue eye shadow smeared up to her eyebrows.  Her hair was thin and she pouffed her bangs into this see-through bird's-nest thing and lacquered it with hairspray so it moved in one giant piece in the wind.  (Okay, we all did that, but hers was really bad.)  She wore button-up flower-printed blouses, buttoned all the way to the top, that wreaked of her mother's particular sense of  (old-lady) style.  (Let's not discuss the fact that I discovered jeans for the first time in this same year.  For the first half of the school year,  my favorite pants were a pair of stirrup pants in some pattern that involved big yellow flowers and purple something- I don't remember what was purple in the pants, but something was, because I always wore them with a long purple shirt that I thought made me look awesome, and I never would've worn a purple shirt with those pants unless there was purple in them somewhere.)

Anyhow, back to Heather.  She showed up in my dream yesterday morning.  We were maybe at a party or something?  There was a big open room, people mingling, and then she walked through the door.  I was startled by her presence - she looked, in her face, exactly the same as the last time I saw her, but without the crunchy bangs and coke-bottle glasses.  Her hair was sleek and smooth, and her skin was clear.  Her eyes were free of the magnification of the glasses that always made her look a little googly-eyed...and they weren't held down by a gram of blue powder, either.  She was pretty.

We didn't talk beyond a "hey, good to see you" because my alarm sounded.  But in the shower, I thought of things I'd say to her if I saw her now:

"I'm sorry we were so mean to you."

"I'm sorry we put Ex-lax in that caramel cookie bar and then let you eat it."

"I'm sorry we made fun of you."

"I'm sorry we thought we were better than you."  I mean, there was a reason she was sitting at our lunch table, people; it's not like there were assigned seats.

"I hope we didn't cause any lasting damage."

Kids are mean.  We were mean.  Brutal.  I hope she's doing alright.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever forgive myself for the sins I committed as a child."  I said that to Stacy not too long ago; I told her if I ever write a book, it'll be the first line.  Today, right now, I feel like I'm a pretty good person.  I try to leave a good impact wherever I go, even if it's just a smile or a few coins.  I've been a bitch, though; I've been a mean asshole, I've been cruel and vindictive.  For fuck's sake, I once convinced my 2-year old brother that he was adopted and mom and dad were going to take him back because they decided they didn't like him anymore.  When I say convinced, I mean, I only retracted my story when he started crying.

God, that brought tears to my eyes.  See what I mean?  I hate myself for that memory.  I hope Brother doesn't remember it.  Of course, is that better or worse?  That it could be seared into his psyche that he's unloved because his sister was an evil 11 year old?  Maybe it's all my fault he was all fucked up.

Stacy, too.  She and I are only 18 months apart; I treated her as if she were my minion, there for my personal enjoyment and entertainment.  About 10 years ago, she told me she'd always admired me and looked up to me; I've never been so ashamed or felt so low in my life.  I don't deserve her kindness, and sometimes, even now, I'm surprised that she wants to hang out with me or listens to my advice.

But people change.  We grow up and we figure out that our actions have consequences and we learn what empathy is and we start to not be assholes all the time.  I think Stacy and Brother have forgiven me; I imagine Heather Donovan thinks nothing of me at all.

I am my own worst critic, because I remember.

Wah wah wat wha wah

The world ended last night.  And I'm pretty sure I made out with some scrawny pirate-looking dude, but it's okay, because later I killed him.

We were at a party, and the world shifted.  We didn't know what had happened, or how, only that all of a sudden, everything was different and we were no longer enjoying the party, we were trying to decide who we could trust so we could make our escape and try to get to safety.  From the second-floor veranda, we could see smoke from fires in the distance.  The roads were choked, traffic lights out, but not as many people were wandering the streets as you'd expect - we guessed the ones we didn't see were probably dead.

Pirate man was some sort of boss, and he'd been making eyes at me all night.  After the shit hit the fan, I had to employ whatever tactics necessary to get us out of there safely, so I did what any reasonably creative chick would do - I made him think I was going to have sex with him and then I killed him instead.  I didn't get any weapons from him, but his death made our escape possible, and before we knew it, we were on our way home. I haven't told Jimi yet, but I'm confident he'll understand.

I can't remember where we got the plane or what we did with the car, but none of that really matters now as they're both useless - the car was out of gas, and the plane...well, we ditched the plane into the river to get a closer look at this factory.  There were hills and shit all around us anyhow - we were going to find ourselves with empty tanks before we found a flat place to land.  I must say, when my ex-husband was teaching me how to fly his dad's plane, I thought it was just a novelty - I never realized it would one day help save my life.  And water landings aren't nearly as scary as they look if you're expecting it.  The hardest part was accepting that I'd probably killed a few innocents, but dammit, if one of us has to die, I'd rather it be them than me.  What are all these people doing in the water, anyhow?  It's like a lazy river up in here, people floating by in giant tubes and rafts and on doors and shit.  Where are the boats and canoes and kayaks?  How did people manage to get their floats blown up?  All the electricity is out.

The hole in the foundation of the building told us it probably had been abandoned for a while, and we were right - it had been claimed as shelter by few guys and a gal who had an awesome stock of emergency and survival equipment.  I'm not sure why they took a liking to us and let us stay, but when that flotilla of strapped-together rowboats crept by, the didn't slit our throats when we took defensive positions and readied our weapons to fight along side them.  A chunky girl who was probably 35 but looked 20, with short brown curls that clung close to her long, rectangular head, appeared in the hole where a window used to be - she was out of the boats and on the ledge.  She wore a yellow dress covered with small pink flowers, and her double chin hung down so low it rested on her chest.  She disappeared from the window, acting as if she'd not seen us, but I knew she had, and I crept along the wall, just on the opposite side from her, and when she turned to enter the doorway, i drove that battery-powered drill bit up through that double chin, through the roof of her mouth, and into her brain.  She was not going to ruin my day.  The floating caravan continued upriver, uncaring that they'd lost one of their own, or unwilling to risk their own hides to check on her.  We continued organizing the well-stocked supplies our new-found friends were generously offering to share.



And then I woke up.

Pretty sure I can blame this on the fact that I'm currently reading "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies".  Almost certain.

Jimi's reading it too; I hope he got enough sleep last night to have dreams.  (I doubt it, though - his shoulder has been hurting him something awful, and he woke me up screaming at 3 a.m. because he'd gone to roll over and had somehow tweaked it the wrong way.  Poor guy.  It's not bad enough for surgery, but PT and cortisone haven't helped.  Boo.)

My week's been pretty fantastic so far.  No plans for that to change any time soon.  It's almost the weekend - and a long weekend at that.  YAY!  Looks like we're camping.  I love that, except for the getting-ready, packing-up, loading-up, assembling, taking-down, packing-up, unpacking, washing-everything-again parts.  The part in the middle, where we're camping and doing nothing, that part is awesome and fantastic and ALMOST worth the trouble of all the rest.

I ate an avocado for the first time yesterday.  Well, it wasn't the first time I've ever had avocado, but it was the first time I've cut one in half, removed the pit, and sat down with a spoon to eat one.  I loved it!  I want more!  I went to Valu Market last night and was going to buy some more...but they were, I shit you not, $2.69 each.  Holy shit, $2.69 for an avocado?!  I read a blog post just the other day wherein one of my bloggy friends bemoaned the fact that her man eats a $2 avocado every day.  I can't remember what I paid for the one I bought, but I promise it wasn't $2.69.  I hate Valu Market.  Highway robbery.  It's some bullshit.  Know what makes me maddest?  The neighborhood served by that market is mostly made up of recent immigrants - I feel like they're being taken advantage of.  $0.69 bananas, $3.50 gallons of milk, $3.69 taco kits.  I hate that store, and I just decided I'll never shop there again.  (Unless I just need beer or water chestnuts or baby corns - their prices on beer and canned Asian vegetables are pretty reasonable.)

Do you dream?  Do you remember details of your dreams?  Do your dreams have recurring themes?  What did you dream about last night?    Talk to me, people!

Oh, and Happy Hump Day!