Last week, I wrote about a strange dream I’d had, in which I did uncharacteristic things including but not limited to: tackling a guy with a gun, shooting my cat with said gun, and actually running for more than two minutes without collapsing to the ground and begging for the sweet release of death.
It’s gotten worse.
My mind, ever since then: You think I’m weird? I’LL SHOW YOU WEIRD.
(Okay, I just spent half an hour sitting here trying to describe the dream I had last night, and I still have nothing to show for it. This undertaking is proving to require way more thinking than I’d bargained for, so I’m going to make it easier on all of us by just penning a brief outline of it: first day of school, missed the bus, wrong classes, bilocation, ransacked house, Cultural Revolution. A Western equivalent, anyway.
That probably makes no sense to you, but in all likelihood, it would’ve made even less sense had I explained it in detail. Trust me on this.)
Mom: Your dreams are full of tension. It means you’re stressed.
Me: Stressed? But I’m just laying here on the couch at 11AM, eating a Family-sized bag of chips by myself and trying not to think about anything at all as I imagine each artificially flavored bite will further distance me from a not-so-distant future of actual responsibilities and decisions and my impending doom. What do you—
Mom: Stop being stressed.
Except, in saving myself the trouble of writing about my dream, I’ve just deprived myself of a topic to write this post about. I would call this bad planning on my part if not for the fact that we all know I don’t really plan these posts at all. But, wait, would “not planning” be considered “bad planning?”
Nope, that’s way too deep. Abort.
… Well, there’s the obvious, I suppose. Tomorrow’s the first day of school. A couple hours ago, I finished my summer reading for an elective I hadn’t been registered for until last week (due to complications with an off-campus course, I had to choose a different class last minute, so obviously the logical thing to do was choose the one with the MOST SUMMER HOMEWORK IMAGINABLE. The only explanation I can provide for this: I’m dumb). I’ve bugged so many faculty members so often about my screwed-up schedule that they’d probably qualify as my pen pals.
Speaking of writing, I’ve just relearned how to hold a pencil, so I’m basically about as ready for tomorrow as I’ll ever be.