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Tuesday, Jan. 28, 2003 / 6:08 p.m. ~Just Another Dream, and Preparing For the Doomsday Speech~ Apple smoked cheddar is intense. It's one of those flavors that you might enjoy as an intense flavor, sort of, "Whoo! This is intense! Got to have another bite!". Like Wasabe (I hope I spell it right). Every time I eat Wasabe in public people think I'm having some sort of attack, but it's a good attack, and I always have to explain. Probably like the faces I used to make whilst in the midst of sexual activities. "Are you okay?! Am I hurting you?"...... But that was a long time ago. Speaking of, though, I had an odd dream this morning. In reality, Gladys comes along whilst I'm in bed, under covers, assuming it's Winter time, and takes her paw and tries to pull back said covers, so I usually help her along, pull them back and pull her in and we spoon. We like spooning. In the dream, I did the same, but I was in a sleeping bag, naked, and I was beckoning my ex-lover. The one from years and years ago, the one I lived with for four years. Him. Occasionally my subconscious mind yanks him out of deep storage, to play, I suppose, in the dream state. And play we do. So, there we were. And it was much like, very much like, the time we went camping with his cousin and his cousin's new wife, again, in reality. We went with them on their honeymoon camping trip, in the Colorado mountains. We took acid and stood beneath a stand of trees to wait out an intense and very sudden Summer hail storm. We drank beer and we hiked, and my ex's dogs ran wild. It was mid-Summer and there was snow in patches on the ground. It was beautiful. I wore shorts with my hiking socks and boots, big sweaters, and a bandanna on my head. I have pictures to prove it. And at night it got cold. COLD. Really cold, Colorado Rocky Mountain Cold. I had a shit sleeping bag, one I still have, the one I got to take with me to Summer Camp.... when I was 11. I was 26 on this trip, using the same bag, and I was cold. He invited me into his bag (still in reality here), inside his little one man tent, and there we were, tripping, cramming into this mummy bag, inside this one man tent, in the Colorado Rockies, at night, in the COLD. And I freaked out in a major claustrophobic way! I had to get out, NOW! I didn't care if I froze. In this morning's dream I was ready to do it again, to replay this little scene, and in he came, into my bag, and it wasn't too small, and I crawled on top of him, straddled him, grabbing him with my vulva, pulling him inside of me, and he said "OW!", and I realized he was naked, bare penis skin was about to enter my vagina and we needed a condom. I know, this is weird, I don't know why I dreamed it........ but he was getting out a condom and suddenly there spilled around his head some creamy cheesey looking substance, I guess like goat cheese. I was asking him where it came from and we were both puzzled. And all I can think here is this is an interesting mishmash obtained by many brain particles firing all at once. The goat cheese from the cooking show "Two Fat Ladies" Sunday night, me beckoning Gladys under covers, and the rest? A desire on my part to do it again? To have sex this time? I couldn't back then, it didn't feel right, I couldn't have sex whilst under the influence of psychedelics. But I have no idea why I was thinking of it now, this morning, or why my mind thought of it for me. Speaking of which, last night I was minding my own business, watching the Millionaire show or something, sitting on the sofa with a cat or two, and suddenly I smelled paste. Or the memory of the smell of paste suddenly entered my sphere of reference. Paste, as in glue, as in glue for small children to use when creating crafty projects in first grade. Or kindergarten. And in a rush of sensory memory I was transported and came right back. No, it wasn't an acid flashback, leave me alone. This sort of thing happens from time to time, the memory of a scent, not the actual scent, aroma, odor, itself, but the idea of it. And it's clear as if it were right there, or here. I can't manufacture in my brain right now the scent of paste, but last night..... Ah well. Moving right along. We got sent home early tonight, only 15 minutes, and of course I asked, "Are we getting paid?", and I knew we wouldn't, but I was given the option to stay, despite all computer systems being taken 'down'. Nice gesture, but I think I can handle losing 15 minutes. H., the Supervisor, even offered to let me make it up. Man, she is SUCH a vast improvement over D...... I came home and there were two police cars in the parking lot, doing their little mating dance, or their '69' position, or whatever it makes you think of when you see them parked facing in opposite directions so the drivers can chat each other up. I had to make them move, and that always gives me a little thrill. It happened not long ago too, when Listerine and I went bowling after work and she let me leave my car in the KFC lot, drove us in her car. We went back to get my car and there they were, busting some young kids, blocking their cars from leaving the lot, and mine too. I casually got in my car and the one cop moved his, then rushed it back in place. So too today, they had to unlock their embrace. They don't own the road, and they realize it when they need to. I just got a kick out of pulling up behind them and casually waiting. Wanting to honk, but there was no need. No "24" again tonight, as last Tuesday, and this time it's so our President can tell us what he thinks of the State we are in. It's his war rally and I'd like to say I'll have no part, but on the other hand I'm tempted to tape it, just so I can replay the naughty bits. Or use his voice for sound bytes. Now there's an idea......... Reminds me of this rap band that was at the Not In Our Name benefit a month or two ago, they had great sound bytes, just snippets of all kinds of war crap, Bush, Rumsfeld, etc. Really creatively strewn together. I come home early and I see it as an opportunity to write, but the cats want to play, especially Norman, so I feel guilty now. Must make it up to her. So, I'm filled with dread about this big speech, and the subsequent applause at appropriate intervals, the grimaces the little guy makes, his gestures, his bad grammar, blech! Makes me ill just thinking about it. I literally cannot stand to look at him. That's awful, I know, but he just gives me the creeps. But I feel it's my duty to watch, to listen to every word, just as it was my duty to go to D.C. to the Demonstration. And I was thinking today that I would feel so great about that Demonstration if I'd felt better while I was there, and immediately after. I should've felt happy that there were so many people I was knocked around by them all day long. That's fucking GREAT! Instead of coming home pissy and sick. But in the long run it didn't stop any future actions by the Fuhrer, I mean George. Or am I being overly cynical? It's just always a bit of a letdown after a big Demonstration, wondering what good it all does. Okay, instead of dread, I'm going to psych myself up for this State of Disrepair Speech tonight. It will be FUN! There, all better. And in other news, my body is feeling better every day. I just have to wait for my head and my lungs to catch up. The cough has me worried, but it always does. I'll get there soon. Cost of the War in Iraq
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