The truth is, the job feels pretty good. So far, it doesn’t feel like work. The people are nice. The vibe is good. So what am I so mad about?
Oh, I dunno … EVERYTHING?
The thing is… I’ve been having anxiety dreams again. The old kind. The scary kind. Ones where I’m drowning. Or dying. Or running. Or falling. And it’s making me kind of angry. I don’t want to dream this stuff anymore. It’s exhausting. And it’s unfair. Meaning, it’s so NOT my fault.
That said, I must admit, it’s also kind of interesting. Having not had one of these dreams in a long while, the sudden influx compelled me to hunt down my old dream diary, where for several years, I tried to write this stuff, in the hopes of finding a pattern. Here, some excerpts:
March 9, 2004:
I dreamt I was on a huge ship at night, and looking over the side and into the water, I saw a whale. A great whale, huge and black and bigger than the ship itself. I was afraid of its size. Afraid it would dive down, upset us, suck us under, take me.
November 11, 2003:
I dreamt I was on the beach at Long Point, looking up at the cottages, my back to the lake. A shadow slid over me from behind, and I turned to look and saw the water formed into a great wave, taller than a skyscraper, filled with fish, and trees torn up at the roots, and the rotting bodies of cows and gulls. And the lip of it curled over me. And the bulk of it came down.
July 28, 2006:
I dreamt the apartment was infested with lady bugs. At first, I saw just one or two, before realizing they were everywhere. Thousands of them covering the ceiling, the walls, piled into the corners. And though seeming to be still, they weren’t. They were buzzing and vibrating, writhing and crawling all over each other. So we bug-bombed the apartment, and the ladybugs died. And the buzzing died too. Their bodies marked up the walls like scabs, or flaked down to the floor, crunching under our feet like fallen leaves.
Seriously. What the hell, right? My subconscious needs to FUCK OFF already.
I mean, I know what these dreams are about. Not that that helps any.
In other news, my softball team is going to play in the season championship next week. That's pretty good news, I guess. I love softball. I loved it a bit more about a month ago, of course. My team experience has been tainted a little bit by stupid stuff that's entirely my own fault, but all in all, it's still a pretty happy thing. Sorta. Sorta kinda. It WAS a happy thing. Maybe it still is. I don’t know anymore. Stupid dreams.
The playing part is good, anyway. At least, when I don't suck. In the first playoff game earlier this week, like an idiot, I tried to "guide" a fly ball into my glove with my bare right hand. (I knew I was going to miss it, and just lost my head for a second.) I’m clearly mental. I mean, who does this kind of thing? My new job has EVERYTHING to do with healthy hands and fingers, so what do I do? Fuck up my hand on my very first day. I mean, could I BE any smarter? No. Because I am stupid. Or softball is stupid. Or the gods are stupid.
SOMEbody’s stupid. That’s for sure.
I don’t know why I’m bothering to blog. The blog is stupid too.
You know what? I have nothing interesting to say. I think I’m going to quote fictional characters instead.
1. Don’t ask me any questions right now. I’m grumpy and I’ll probably make fun of you. – Effie Kaligaris.
2. Patrick: I’m mad.
Sponge Bob: What’s the matter, Patrick?
Patrick: I can’t see my forehead. – Sponge Bob Square Pants.
3. I. Hate. Everyone. – Angela Chase
Life is so… whatever.