Returning from Tenerife I bought home
three little cacti, whom I've yet to name, but I got a serious
feeling that one of them is a Bertie. After a brief period sitting on
the windowsill, it was decided to move the little buggers because
with every twitch of the curtain they'd snag it and go leaping off
the windowsill with glee abandon, spraying the floor with dirt. With
no where else to adequately place them for the time being, they sit
next to my deodorant.
It is, without doubt, a decision I am
going to regret in the future.
I am fully aware that I am absolutely
useless in the mornings - to the point of non-function. I once spent
a good half hour looking for said deodorant when I had inadvertently
moved it to my computer desk from it's usual position: a grand total
of eighteen inches of movement. But it wasn't where it was meant to
be! Sorcery! So I know, I know, I know, that at some point...
Some not too distance point... Some not too distant point in the near
future that I will stagger from my room in the early hours... shower,
half dress, fall across the room... and grab the wrong thing and
vigorously apply a cactus to my bare armpit.
It is only a matter of time.
Of course, you all realise that the
simple solution is to a.) not be such a cockwomble, or b.) simply
move the bloody cacti, but you forget: I am a royal cockwomble and
will be addressed formally so at all times. Secondly, there is just
no where else to put them. I spent literally one, maybe two minutes
looking for an alternative space. That's a potential one hundred
and twenty seconds just looking. For such a manly man that I am
that is an incredibly long time spent just looking. Now they must
remain there for all time. The domestic equivalent of a red coffee
button next to the red nuke button.
My one spark of hope was that the fact
that I didn't do so this morning may mean that this royal cockwomble
has hope of abdicating into mere common nobility. In that I mean I
grow to be less of an idiot. To not be one at all is either a
miracle, an evil clone, aforementioned sorcery or a combination
thereof.
Because this morning I awoke from such
a nightmare that I'm impressed I got to work dressed at all, let
alone correctly. I spent the first half of the morning so desperate
for work to keep my mind of what I had dreamt that a stack of laptops
to gut for parts was a godsend; simple work for the hands, yet just
complicated enough to require constant attention because there's a
fucking screw still in there somewhere. Somewhere. Look, it's
gripping right here but there's no... fucking... screw. Maybe it's a
clip? From what angle do I push? Ah! It is a screw! The fucker
was underneath the sticker all along. Cunning bastard.
Because it turned out what my brain
wanted this morning was a departure from the norm. Somewhere along
the line, it went, 'God, mere horror. So bored of that. Huh,
what's that? Physiological terror? Ohhhh. That sound's nasty.
Let's do that.'
I mentioned this before, and I'll say
it again; my brain can be quite the dick sometimes.
In my dream, I spent three weeks at a
place that was a curious amalgamation of my university and college.
It had the full and varied timetables of college (I had maths. The
horror.) But it also had the scale and the communists of
university.
(Small tangent here: America, stop
using the word 'socialist' as an equivalent to the word 'evil.' Look.
I knew communists. I've read the Communist Manifesto. Amongst the
'not work your employees to death' angle I approve of, I found it
hard to take totally seriously 'cos of that one paragraph that
denounced the bourgeois for constantly wanting to prostitute out
their daughters and wives, and I could never look past that hilarious
nit pick. Just... look. Let your children go to university, declare
themselves communists, nod sagely at them... and fifteen minutes
after leaving university and they discover the need to get employed
for all the nice things materialism offers they'll get over it. It's
just a phase. Except for the hardcore ones, and honestly, them seem
to put themselves into a cycle of perpetual university course taking
and thus can be safely ignored.)
Yes, I understand being at this
uni/college combo isn't quite 'nightmare' territory... but. I wasn't
going back to university. According to dream logic, I had gone to
university again. A new one. Right now.
I had left behind my responsibilities,
my job, my rent payments (which I was aware were due and I wasn't
earning anything to pay it) as well as my family and friends. I had
left my girlfriend, whom I've lived with for over a year now, to only
see every fortnight, and then not at all. In the three weeks I was
there, I spoke to no people. I went to no lectures or seminars. I
couldn't bring myself to look at my timetable, so I was constantly
uncertain where I should be. Three weeks. Everyday I got up. Wandered
the campus. Went back to bed. Everyday I had the knowledge that I
wasn't doing the work I needed to do. I wasn't learning what I needed
to learn. I was wasting the money I spent to get there, and debts
were piling up at home that I could no longer pay. I didn't have the
friends I met from when I first went to university, I was completely
isolated from everyone I cared about. I was completely alone, of my
own doing, gnawed at by the guilt of not doing any work, not able to
muster the will to try, and that most damningly of all; I'd already
been to university once. That even if I did this work it was utterly
pointless, as I'd only achieve what I had already accomplished. I had
made a terrible decision, and in keeping to it, I was completely and
utterly wasting my life.
Also there was lightning surrounding
the campus so I couldn't leave.
Did I not mention the lightning? Yeah,
that's weird, but I had enough reasoning whilst asleep to note the
redundancy of my situation and my failing of my responsibilities but
not enough to question the lightning. Dreams, right?
I was so depressed in this nightmare I
can see on waking that I was getting to the point of suicidal. Now
here's the thing – have you ever dreamed someone you know has died?
That you have done something truly awful? When you wake up, even
though it was a dream, it wasn't real, you know that, you're still
sad throughout the day? I spent the morning with a whole heaping dose
of the '|I have made a terrible mistake, my life is pointless' and
Je-suss, where the fuck did that come from? I haven't suddenly signed
up for uni for a second time. I haven't made that mistake, it never
happened. I don't feel like I'm wasting my life at all (at least not
to that strong degree.) But I did this morning. It didn't go away.
For something I didn't even actually
do, I felt completely dejected.
Bwwaaaaaah. Thanks brain. Thanks for
that. That's what I wanted. Not a fantastical dream, hanging out with
Captain Sisko while we battle Daleks in the fields of Middle-Earth
while Miracle of Sound plays Sovngarde Song in the background?
Not an intensely realistic sex dream with, I don't know, ANY
of the many pornstar's I've seen in porn cluttering around my brain,
presumably saved over the 'Advanced Mathematics' section? Wanna pick
half a dozen, make it a party? No? Look, I'd settle for a dream of me
actually defeating my younger brothers in any video game –
intentionally - just once? No? Not once? No? You want me to spend
some of the day questioning my point of my worthless existence until
I stop fixating on it and realise that's not me at all? That's...
that is what you want to do? Really. Really? Really? Captain Sisko
just started punching Daleks out here and lo and behold, a support
squad of pornstars are charging from the north on the dawn of the
third day as the riff kicks in! No?
No? But... but... oh, come on!
Fine. Personal
self-inflicted psychological torture it is, then.
You know what? Fuck you brain. I'm
getting a cider and watching an Uwe Boll film tonight.
That'll learn ya'.
Prick.
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