Wednesday, December 08, 2004
the cat is eating my mouse
No, not my pet mouse. I'm not stupid enough to keep one in a house with two cats. My computer's mouse. Charlie's convinced it's a toy and he keeps eating the cord. It's either time to buy a laser mouse or it's time to prohibit the cat from hanging out on my desk.
I have a ten-page paper due tomorrow. I have written exactly zero pages, but for some inexplicable reason I'm not terribly worried. It's all in my brain, I just need to vomit the contents eloquently onto the page.
Did I mention that Eminem's new cd has a song about puking? In it, he actually pukes into the mic. For some reason, this bugs me. Misogyny I can deal with, but puking in a SONG? That's a little much. I hate listening to or having people puke in front of me. It's an ancient phobia which I've had much time to deal with since my best friend has been a major puker since childhood. I'll just remind Cait, not that she forgets, about the bad baked potato incident, when she came up to my family's island place after some bad ferry food and proceeded to throw up at least a dozen times. Then she woke up in the morning and announced "Guess what happened seventeen years ago today?" Traumatized by the puking and not having slept much cause I was worried she was going to die on me, I responded blankly: "What?" "I was born!" she announced. "Fuck, it's your BIRTHDAY? Damn, I totally forgot, what with the puking and all!" and then I think we made her a cake. Did we, Cait? If not, we should have.
Met with Mel this morning, and allowed her to kick the crap out of me. I was extremely nauseated today by just about everything we did, and I don't know why. This has happened a few times lately. She claims she's just working me harder, but I don't know. Muscles giving out I can deal with, but nausea unnerves me. Refer to aforementioned puking phobia. Mel said today she noticed my "body composition" is changing. I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud. That's the most technical way anyone has ever told me that I'm looking less fat. I suppose I should be pleased, but I'm not getting my hopes up. I'm not losing weight and I don't exactly look like cheerleading "material," whatever that means. Every day I don't go to the gym is a day on which I feel like I haven't made much progress after all. I no longer understand what it was that made me go weeks and months and years without working out, because right now that would really bug me.
I had a horrible dream last night which really shot my sleep patterns to hell and has left me pretty much traumatized all day. In my dream, the Boy had been fatally poisoned by someone I knew, and I was pretty sure it was my dad. This is pretty wacked since my dad's not the sitting-on-the-porch-waiting-with-a-shotgun-for-the-boyfriend type, and him and the Boy get along really well in real life. But in the dream I knew for some reason that my dad was going to do it before it happened, but I was too far away at the time to do anything to prevent it. The Boy has always said that should anything happen to him, I should put his body in a big oil drum so he can escape the circle of life (don't ask!) and then tell everyone that he went climbing in the Himalayas and I haven't heard from him since. In my dream I didn't have a big metal drum so I decided I would have to bury him without anyone knowing. So I went to the top of a hill with my friend J. from Turkey (weird since I haven't seen her in ages) as my helper and confidante, and we had to dig a big hole in the ground to put him in, in a spot where there was conveniently no grass. This was all horrible enough, but I had to pick him up and lay him in the grave, and we didn't have anything to cover him up with and his skin was so cold and I was so sad because he always so warm and telling me my little hands are too cold when I put them on his stomach to warm them up. I couldn't stop crying and he looked like he was sleeping so I kept telling him to just wake up, but I knew he wouldn't. I couldn't stand covering up the grave so I got J. to do it for me and I looked away, and then I woke up and realised I had actually been crying in my sleep cause my face and my pillow were all wet with tears. I'm not going to explore the metaphorical or symbolic meaning of this dream because the literal meaning alone is too painful.
I called the Boy from the gym this morning, a little worried, and found out he was studying with Kun and Ruh at the engineering clubhouse on the other side of campus, so I went to see him. He was busy and I should have been writing my essay, but it was just really really good to have him in the same room with me, living and breathing and warm.
I don't know why I have such horrible dreams. Maybe it's stress, but I'm not really that stressed out. I have a far too vivid imagination, and it often takes me to places I wish it wouldn't. I think I inherited it from my mother, cause she always has dreams in which me or other people are in trouble or sick or dead, and the next day she's always reminding me she's glad I'm alive.
Ah, what tangled webs we weave.
Got to start writing, maybe I'll be back later.
-N
