fifteen points to your next mustachio

September 6, 2012

1. my whole house smells like roast chicken. it’s amazing.

2. I actually enjoy the feeling of being tired. the eyes sore and the brain cloudy. the sleep settling into the corners of your head, hot and slightly gritty. or maybe that’s just your eyes again.

3. I enjoy being tired when I have time to be tired in. being tired at 1am is panic-making and go to sleep now or you will die tomorrow oh wait it’s 1 you’re going to wilt anyway grim resignation. being tired at 11 is fine. you have miles of time to be tired in. miles of time to sleep. being tired is lovely.

4. living with small niggling things in your head- holding in all the things to remember and yet simultaneously putting them aside because they fret you- makes me think of a jar of blue-black water in a pale light. there are small silver hooks hanging in the water. the jar is glass. worms, thin and shrivelled and pink, hang suspended on the ends of the hooks. the worms uncurl in the water, in the blue-black light.

5. sometimes I stop and realise that I exist. arms hand head body inside a thing, a thing itself. that I am a person, and that I am in something so small, so compact. that I see through these things called eyes. that I am alive it is a strange thing, that I am now here, individual, separate. alive. it’s an odd sensation, being aware of this.

6. I am very tired. this is good.

7. last night, I dreamed I was in some kind of crime-fighting squad. we had superpowers. I can’t remember if I shot electricity or if the bad guy shot electricity.

8. there was a guy in my squad who had a bit of a thing for me. he kept trying to protect me when I was trying to shoot electric lightning-bolts at the bad guy. I was a little pissed off by his need to do so. He just kept getting in the way, and I had to make him go away several times so I could do magical electricky things. Eventually, and I recall this part vaguely, he sat me down and said something like, look, I really care about you, but you won’t let me protect you so I’m going out with Shakespeare now. I tend to slip in and out of lucid dreaming, so my conscious-brain woke up properly at this point and was very, very dryly amused.

Shakespeare was, apparently, a girl in a purple jersey. And all this time, the bad guy was still dancing around underneath our mezzanine balcony floor being bad.

9. after this, my dream squad-friends all attempted to comfort me, which I also found amusing. And mildly irritating. Someone was trying to pillow my head on their white-knitted-jumpered bosom in a smotherhold of unnecessary comfort. it was like a marshmallow. And no-one was dealing with the bad guy. I got quite frustrated. All I wanted to do was shoot electric bolts in Fair Isle patterns and defeat evil, but people kept getting in the way.

10. The moral of this story is that if I am trying to fight evil masterminds with mustachios and I am perfectly capable of shooting lightning bolts from my fingertips, trying to protect me will just piss me off. Enormously. Moreover, if you try to comfort me after I have been dumped by an overprotective and patronising person while mustachio-wearing wizards are still dancing about, I will be highly unimpressed with you.

11. I’m fairly sure this  makes about as much sense from a dream-interpretation standpoint. Patronising guys with superiority complexes piss me off when I have stuff to get done and they get in the way. That’s pretty much it.

12. Conclusion: my dreams remain unmysterious. They still process how I feel about things that happen when I’m awake, and they tell me interesting things about myself.

13. I want roast chicken.

14. I want sleep.

15. Goodnight.

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