Welcome to Bizzaro World
Sep. 22nd, 2004 05:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityvixenNo, not Suite 2014 at EC this year, but my head after a Texas-sized margarita with an extra shot of tequila.
I ate dinner with Liz C last night at Dallas BBQ (turns out she likes that place, despite its extremely limited selection of non-beef, non-poulty meals), and had one drink. I think it's safe to say I was pretty buzzed, but not hammered. If I were actually blitzed, things would be simpler today. Instead, I was just fuzzy and warm last night, and I lasted about all of two minutes staying conscious after I dropped Liz off at the subway. I walked back to the apartment, said I wasn't interested in any Champloo, and passed out, thinking it would just be a nap to take the edge off of how unbelievably tired that drink had made me. I still hadn't recovered from the day before, waking up ass-early for a textbook exchange from hell. When I say passed out, I mean, bang, out like a light. It's significant for me 'cause of my low-grade insomnia which pretty much makes it impossible to fall asleep before half an hour of hitting the hay. I woke up at midnight, changed, brushed my teeth, and went back to bed, cursing myself for not having made the effort to set the 'nap' function on my alarm clock.
Predictably, as a result of sleeping off the edge of my drink-enhanced exhaustion, I wasn't able to really fall back asleep easily or, this time solely because of alcohol, for periods longer than about an hour. In between waking up and wishing I weren't awake, I had a series of dreams that tailed off into nightmare territory for a while. At four am, I remembered details from the first one that would have made Carrie proud (she of the annoyingly long, complex, detailed dreams). As of now, here's what I can remember:
The first dream, the most vivid of the night (based on my sense that, despite having lost a lot of it to time, I woke and was amazed at how detailed it was), was about a kind of commencement on Low Plaza. I was in a gown that was not quite but close to what we wore for graduation this year--it was close to Columbia blue, and the tassle was dark blue and I could tell my hair was down (I spent the dream either looking out through my own eyes or overhead). Liz M and Lisa were next to me, which is another example of my dreams mirroring reality just to confuse me royally. Liz was excited that she was graduating and I knew that meant she had earned her PhD (as that's the next achievement in her schooling career). Lisa and I, though, I could only piece together that our being here was odd. Also, as it was September by my own timeline, even in the dream I knew this, I couldn't fathom why there would be a ceremony at all, nor what Lisa or I had done to merit walking.
Whenever Low Plaza was viewed from where I sat, it looked nearly empty. There were a few chairs, haphazardly thrown around, some people milling around, some sitting, and not all in cap and gown. When I was looking overhead, the plaza looked much like it did on graduation--packed with students, people in chairs, a podium. At one point, there was a lengthy pause and a group of people carrying a banner with the name something-or-other Lee and the number 9 below it, marched through the over-large aisle between groups of chairs. I knew at once whoever [Blank] Lee was, they were dead and we were mourning them. The banner also looked like it had been done on the paper they make paper grocery bags out of and done with those tempera paints you get in grade school. The quality of the art on the banner--a simple jersy-shaped polygon in blue, letters in yellow--suggested somebody'd gotten a bunch of kids to do it. And that's all I can remember any more.
I haven't told anyone anything about this, but I was concerned that my right arm looked like it had an unnatural bump near my wrist. I can't go get it looked at without insurance, and until my Dad finds out if his covers me or mine arrives, it's just been a "it's not hurting or broken, leave it alone" situation. So, dream #2 drew on this paranoia and stuck situation but played it off as a problem with my left arm. In the dream, I started with someone I can't remember but know in real life sitting at the kitchen table at my house in Westchester. I'm on the end, they're in the first chair on the table's right, next to the counter.
I am freaking out about my left arm, agitated that I can't fix whatever's wrong with it, though it's not immediately apparent what that is. Later, I would remember it looking bulgy, a lot more so than my right 'bump.' Upset that I can do nothing for what appears to be a serious problem (no health insurance in the dream either), I claw at my arm, trying to smooth down the bulges. Desperate when that doesn't work, I glance at my arm and discover something both relieving and (to the conscious me) frightening. Just past a large mole on my wrist, there is a gray-black knob sticking out of the precise joint between hand and wrist. Excited, I pull it, and my skin begins to unseal, creating a top flap of skin and the rest of the arm lolling out to the sides.
The culprit, it seems, for my bulges are a bunch of little plastic skulls--not unlike the ones you get on those cheap white rings at Halloween, but colored in so that the eyes are black, as are the fake cracks on the skull cap. The rest of my arm? Aside from the flaps of skin, which on the inside look believably pink and sticky and mucousy, the rest is entirely made up of cooked pasta shapes--wheels and spirals mostly, some spinach ones, no tomato ones. With chopsticks, I pluck out each plastic skull, careful not to get any of the pasta in the process because that would damage the structure of my arm. No bones, no blood, just plastic goodie bag toys and pasta. Then, when I'm finished, I plead with the other person to help me reseal my arm by bringing the flap back down and sealing the knob. For some reason I can't do it. The other person, grossed out or mean, I never found out, doesn't do it right away and the dream ended. It's been creeping me out all day since.
This last one wasn't the worst nightmare (that would be dream #2), but it was still freaking me out this morning when I finally conceded to getting out of bed. I dreamt that I was in my bed and waking up to the radio. I have mine set to K-ROCK, so in the mornings it's Howard Stern. Howard, Robin, and Artie were all talking about and making lewd jokes about (as if they'd pass up the chance) the fact that Bill Clinton was dead. They never said how or what had happened or anything constructive, but my dream broadcast was so chillingly accurate (capturing their voices, personalities, etc) that in it I could not process that it was just a dream. It didnt help that he'd been through surgery recently. I was really bummed by this news. I attribute it to the fact that Clinton is the first president that I actually was old enough to know stuff about and appreciate him as president (versus Bush Sr who I only remember as not liking broccoli and who I didn't want to win because for some reason I was a liberal kid, too). It was really sad to think of him dying. He's such a jovial guy, despite being a total sleaze, much better than Bush Jr and more personable than John Kerry. It was like the last straw breaking the camel's back only in the dream it was the final separation between the eight years of relative calm and ease under Clinton and today's post-9/11 and partisan hysteria. I woke at 7 am to see the alarm hadn't gone off yet, but I haven't been able to shake how sad even the fake news of Clinton dying was all day...
I ate dinner with Liz C last night at Dallas BBQ (turns out she likes that place, despite its extremely limited selection of non-beef, non-poulty meals), and had one drink. I think it's safe to say I was pretty buzzed, but not hammered. If I were actually blitzed, things would be simpler today. Instead, I was just fuzzy and warm last night, and I lasted about all of two minutes staying conscious after I dropped Liz off at the subway. I walked back to the apartment, said I wasn't interested in any Champloo, and passed out, thinking it would just be a nap to take the edge off of how unbelievably tired that drink had made me. I still hadn't recovered from the day before, waking up ass-early for a textbook exchange from hell. When I say passed out, I mean, bang, out like a light. It's significant for me 'cause of my low-grade insomnia which pretty much makes it impossible to fall asleep before half an hour of hitting the hay. I woke up at midnight, changed, brushed my teeth, and went back to bed, cursing myself for not having made the effort to set the 'nap' function on my alarm clock.
Predictably, as a result of sleeping off the edge of my drink-enhanced exhaustion, I wasn't able to really fall back asleep easily or, this time solely because of alcohol, for periods longer than about an hour. In between waking up and wishing I weren't awake, I had a series of dreams that tailed off into nightmare territory for a while. At four am, I remembered details from the first one that would have made Carrie proud (she of the annoyingly long, complex, detailed dreams). As of now, here's what I can remember:
The first dream, the most vivid of the night (based on my sense that, despite having lost a lot of it to time, I woke and was amazed at how detailed it was), was about a kind of commencement on Low Plaza. I was in a gown that was not quite but close to what we wore for graduation this year--it was close to Columbia blue, and the tassle was dark blue and I could tell my hair was down (I spent the dream either looking out through my own eyes or overhead). Liz M and Lisa were next to me, which is another example of my dreams mirroring reality just to confuse me royally. Liz was excited that she was graduating and I knew that meant she had earned her PhD (as that's the next achievement in her schooling career). Lisa and I, though, I could only piece together that our being here was odd. Also, as it was September by my own timeline, even in the dream I knew this, I couldn't fathom why there would be a ceremony at all, nor what Lisa or I had done to merit walking.
Whenever Low Plaza was viewed from where I sat, it looked nearly empty. There were a few chairs, haphazardly thrown around, some people milling around, some sitting, and not all in cap and gown. When I was looking overhead, the plaza looked much like it did on graduation--packed with students, people in chairs, a podium. At one point, there was a lengthy pause and a group of people carrying a banner with the name something-or-other Lee and the number 9 below it, marched through the over-large aisle between groups of chairs. I knew at once whoever [Blank] Lee was, they were dead and we were mourning them. The banner also looked like it had been done on the paper they make paper grocery bags out of and done with those tempera paints you get in grade school. The quality of the art on the banner--a simple jersy-shaped polygon in blue, letters in yellow--suggested somebody'd gotten a bunch of kids to do it. And that's all I can remember any more.
I haven't told anyone anything about this, but I was concerned that my right arm looked like it had an unnatural bump near my wrist. I can't go get it looked at without insurance, and until my Dad finds out if his covers me or mine arrives, it's just been a "it's not hurting or broken, leave it alone" situation. So, dream #2 drew on this paranoia and stuck situation but played it off as a problem with my left arm. In the dream, I started with someone I can't remember but know in real life sitting at the kitchen table at my house in Westchester. I'm on the end, they're in the first chair on the table's right, next to the counter.
I am freaking out about my left arm, agitated that I can't fix whatever's wrong with it, though it's not immediately apparent what that is. Later, I would remember it looking bulgy, a lot more so than my right 'bump.' Upset that I can do nothing for what appears to be a serious problem (no health insurance in the dream either), I claw at my arm, trying to smooth down the bulges. Desperate when that doesn't work, I glance at my arm and discover something both relieving and (to the conscious me) frightening. Just past a large mole on my wrist, there is a gray-black knob sticking out of the precise joint between hand and wrist. Excited, I pull it, and my skin begins to unseal, creating a top flap of skin and the rest of the arm lolling out to the sides.
The culprit, it seems, for my bulges are a bunch of little plastic skulls--not unlike the ones you get on those cheap white rings at Halloween, but colored in so that the eyes are black, as are the fake cracks on the skull cap. The rest of my arm? Aside from the flaps of skin, which on the inside look believably pink and sticky and mucousy, the rest is entirely made up of cooked pasta shapes--wheels and spirals mostly, some spinach ones, no tomato ones. With chopsticks, I pluck out each plastic skull, careful not to get any of the pasta in the process because that would damage the structure of my arm. No bones, no blood, just plastic goodie bag toys and pasta. Then, when I'm finished, I plead with the other person to help me reseal my arm by bringing the flap back down and sealing the knob. For some reason I can't do it. The other person, grossed out or mean, I never found out, doesn't do it right away and the dream ended. It's been creeping me out all day since.
This last one wasn't the worst nightmare (that would be dream #2), but it was still freaking me out this morning when I finally conceded to getting out of bed. I dreamt that I was in my bed and waking up to the radio. I have mine set to K-ROCK, so in the mornings it's Howard Stern. Howard, Robin, and Artie were all talking about and making lewd jokes about (as if they'd pass up the chance) the fact that Bill Clinton was dead. They never said how or what had happened or anything constructive, but my dream broadcast was so chillingly accurate (capturing their voices, personalities, etc) that in it I could not process that it was just a dream. It didnt help that he'd been through surgery recently. I was really bummed by this news. I attribute it to the fact that Clinton is the first president that I actually was old enough to know stuff about and appreciate him as president (versus Bush Sr who I only remember as not liking broccoli and who I didn't want to win because for some reason I was a liberal kid, too). It was really sad to think of him dying. He's such a jovial guy, despite being a total sleaze, much better than Bush Jr and more personable than John Kerry. It was like the last straw breaking the camel's back only in the dream it was the final separation between the eight years of relative calm and ease under Clinton and today's post-9/11 and partisan hysteria. I woke at 7 am to see the alarm hadn't gone off yet, but I haven't been able to shake how sad even the fake news of Clinton dying was all day...
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-22 08:51 pm (UTC)dude, your dreams out-weird mine..... o_O
but yeah I have that problem with alcohol -- makes me at least 100 times more tired than i already always am to begin with..... and then i have fucking bizarre dreams whenever i've been drinking....
my low-grade insomnia which pretty much makes it impossible to fall asleep before half an hour of hitting the hay.
I have this exact problem! and then i wake up at like 2 hour intervals throughout the night..... it sucks.
*hugs*
Clinton isn't dead yet! ^_^ he was my fave president too (watching him give a speech on TV at the democrats convention confirmed this - he's intelligent, and well spoken, unlike a certain other redneck I could mention, or a certain Kerry whose intellectual contribution was "I'm reporrrting for dooty!")