Thursday, Jul. 24, 2003 / 7:05 p.m.

~No More Nightmares, and Legalize Freedom~

I have got to stop falling asleep during Letterman. Waking up to CBS in the middle of the night is nightmare inducing. Usually it's Martha Stewart, nightmare enough (but I kid, I dig Martha), but when it's the early, early news, or like last night, some show with that "America's Most Wanted" dude, omigod. No, wait, OH MY GOD! I'm still trying to figure out if it was during his recitation of the details of the woman guest's sister's murder, or after I woke and lay in bed listening to it, that I had my nightmare. Let's see, the sister was meeting some friends at an apartment complex, she parked by the curb, the murderer had seen her driving, flipped a U-y to chase her, stalked her, attacked her, beat her silly, strangled her with his hands, took off her clothes, strangled her with her own shirt, on account of I guess the first strangling wasn't quite enough, then he cut off her limbs, threw her in a dumpster, and I think I missed a bit of that, I was groggy after all, but the surviving sister said it all as if she'd practiced it a hundred times before.

The point was that because of some law, the guy/murderer is up for parole soon!!!

And was it then that I fell asleep and dreamed someone was calling me, leaving me really funky sounding, voice altered, messages on my machine? Threatening me, telling me he was going to kill me, this person was. And 'he' was watching me, stalking me, and I was scared. I got a letter under my door too, and maybe that part was due to the headlining local news story at 11:00, something about some woman getting death threats towards her little girl, the handwritten note plastered across the screen.

I don't usually have nightmares, but in this one I was scared, I kept saying it aloud, "I'm scared", and I almost considered calling Mark... That's how scared I was. Why I would call him, of all people, I'm not sure, but I was getting desperate.

After I woke and sorted it out, and the room was dark, so it must've been after I heard the murder/dismemberment description of earlier and turned off the TV, I was scared there in the dark, silly me, in my own bed, afraid to turn with my back to the door of my room. Heavy dreams, PPMS (PMS now?), yeah, it all fits. Maybe it was all the corn/celery/carrots/Thai flavored smoked tofu/onions I ate too. Three bowls full, it was so damned good.

Sort of overshadows the whole finale of "Boarding House: North Shore", doesn't it? (oh god, I almost typed 'don't it?', help me, help me please!)

I wasn't online all night last night. I came home, broke down in a puddle of tears (it was a really bad day, read yesterday's entry to see how it all started), vacuumed the entire apartment, then wiggled my toes as I walked from room to room, my sensitive feet feeling suddenly happier than happy. I cooked the aforementioned mixture of veggies and tofu, as I had nothing else to eat, and threw in all kinds of seasonings, and it was good. And I ate a lot. And I watched my surf show, and I'm sad to know it's all over. Sad.

And then I watched the "Big Brother 4" show, and it was fun, and I'm getting used to the people in the house, and I loved the big twist, how the 'exes' were so confident Erika would be booted, but their plan was foiled by the Elite 8 Alliance. Hah! Curses! Foiled again! It's a fun show, after all, it really is. To think those people are all locked up together in that silly pre-fab house, with cameras and microphones all over, it's rich. It really is.

And then, I watched the Cupid show, because their teaser said the critics love it, so I thought maybe I'd missed some review, that just because EW doesn't talk about it (and TWO of my favorite EW columnists are suddenly gone!!!, Dalton Ross and Joel Stein!!!) doesn't mean it's not good, but it sucks pretty much. It could be "For Love Or Money", but the chick with the million dollar dowry is much cuter and more desirable. She is cute as a proverbial button, she is.

And then, I fell asleep pre-Letterman, during news reports of death threats to little girls. Is it any wonder?

And then... just kidding.

But today, post nightmare, post emotional breakdown possibly preceding, possibly precipitating said emotional breakdown, and post "America's Most Wanted" guy's show's most grisly murder description, we had a meeting, a.m.ish, and the Manager (M) told us tomorrow there is going to be a new hardware installation, a new server, or something, again (how many servers can we go through in five years?!), and it will affect our databases, so she needed two volunteers to stay home. Imagine that! My hand shot up, and so did Kukla's, and thusly I am OFF tomorrow! I have to use vacation time, but who cares? I have it! I have time! I will get paid to sleep late, and go to a movie, and shop for shoes (hopefully, I desperately need work shoes - mine are literally falling apart, sad to say), and wash the putrefaction from yesterday off my car (which is still there, because I drove around on my lunch break yesterday and did not find a self serve car wash, and I've never paid for someone to wash my car for me, and I'd feel weird doing so, and my whole lunch break was wasted on this endless drive, which did finally end, but still), and well, whatever I want.

Ahhhhhh... Whatever I want. I love the sound of that.

I have three more items to address, then we're finished here. ('we'?)

I got my American Traveler Apology tshirt in the mail today, and I love it! The design is kind of stiff yet, fresh from the press, but hopefully after washing and drying it will be ready to go. Again, I love it!

Item two - leaving my apartment after lunch, which is a loaded proposition, I never know what I might find, there was my neighbor, one of, the one from the apartment upon whose door the sheriff was banging the other day (was that yesterday? day before?), one I've never seen - people come and go around here - smoking a cigarette, with a little tomato paste can in which she delicately dumped her ashes, a cloud of smoke hanging over her. She said hello, moved aside on the steps where she was sitting, I said hello, asked if she maybe wasn't allowed to smoke inside, and she said she doesn't like to smoke in the house, and I said good for you, or something similar, and walked down the steps.

Not there yet.

There was one of the Mexicans from downstairs, the one who looks like one of the fathers of the kids with the little kids, or an uncle, not sure still, but he was talking to the woman sitting on the steps, and I saw he was smoking too. He was telling her she shouldn't smoke, but he was smoking, and he commented on the irony, straight faced, and I said, "You should quit, you know", to which he replied... well, nothing really, before I said, "They're expensive anyway, right? Like $4.50 a pack?", which is what Q just told me the other day, and at that time I had to say, "Why, when I was a tyke and I got my cigs from machines, they were 50 cents a pack! When I was 16 and I quit, they were only $1, if that!"

But the man in question said, "It's not about the expense", and he chose his words carefully, which made me wonder if he was translating what I said into Spanish, then answering in English, then translating back, and so on, "It's the escape... from the stress of my life...", so I said, "You could try drinking", thinking that was very funny, because that's how my sense of humor works, and I expected laughter, I did, but he was translating, and paused, as I tried to get in my car already, and said something about how he'd been there, done that, years ago, and he hasn't had a drink in years.

Can you say 'faux pas'?

But how am I to know who's a recovering alkie and who isn't? Sorry. I don't think he was offended, but I never know when he's about to finish up, so I laughed, and said, "Ah, well, there you go, good for you then!", and scurried away. Got behind a woman in a pickup at the express mailbox dropoff at the Post Office, a woman who kept reaching for bundles of mail to put in said box, bundles after bundles, and I yanked up my emergency break, walked to the box, almost pushed her hand out of the way, dropped in my fucking mail, and got back in my car to pass her and she started moving. Fucker. I passed her once we were on the street. Wanted to burn rubber, pop a wheelie or something.

I have a bit of road rage, and drive thru rage, and all kinds of rage. But I liked telling Jane both anecdotes once back at work. She loves that kind of stuff. "Guess what this woman did at the stupid outside express mailbox?!" "Really? No! She should've gone inside!" "I know, why are people such idiots?!" " I know!"

Etc.

Last, but not least (whew!), there is a sign outside the sex shop across the street from where I work, wait, sex 'supply' shop, that's it, one of those signs with removable letters, you know, "Sale on Dildos!", or whatever, could be put up if they wanted - well, today I drove by (no, I have not been inside yet, it's fairly new still) and on the sign was, "Legalize Freedom". I love that! Hey, THAT should be on a tshirt! Or is it already? Must research. Dildos and vibrators, items which might pleasure a woman (or man, but designed primarily for women) are still illegal in this state. I'm so serious. Illegal to sell, probably illegal to own.

Oh, oh, oh, "Amazing Race" in t-minus 20 minutes. With the most dangerous competition yet, or so they say.

And when I fall asleep tonight, I must make sure the TV is off, or tuned to TCM. No more nightmares. And legalize freedom. Please.

Dammit, one more thing, really, I have a song to add to my list of songs I'd die without, Cat Stevens' "Trouble". It gives me chills. Or maybe it's just the scene which makes good use of it, from "Harold and Maude". Chills.

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