I don't think I've ever mentioned it enough but I am really thankful that the Internet exists so I can post the most inane, pointless crap that comes to mind for an audience of (at least) one and less than two. (Hint: that would mean me. Note: stop using the same joke over and over again.) There are more important things going on in the world, but I've decided that on this little plot of internet-land that I'm going to do nothing important with it.
I have been sitting on this for quite a while. Over a month, in fact. I like to entertain myself by constantly making up excuses to be busy. I even get studying done because I'd rather use that to procrastinate with. But that's not the point because it's ...
Crazy dream time! Again!
I will keep this short because, to my faithful audience of one (Really? The same joke again?), I am sort of getting tired of writing really, really long entries. Or maybe because I'm typing away in the middle of the evening instead of getting sleep, but I really just want to get this done.
Is that irony or something? That I want to get some sleep while I type mindlessly away about a dream.
We shall begin this story in a blur, because, as Inception taught us, you never know how exactly you ended up where you were in a dream. You were just there and now I knew what I had to do: tear up drywall around my home and turn over every chair, couch, Mr. Potato Head and dumpster looking for dead bodies. Why? Because there is a serial killer loose, that's why! Eventually I reach a point where I find a body, but all I do is turn the couch back on its side, and sit down to have a drink.
I have no clue how my brain is wired, because at this part, this attractive woman decides to come sit down beside me. No words are exchanged, only looks. This is where it gets weirder. Now, this requires that I admit at the time of this writing, I still have not gotten to first base. Ever. Let alone get up to bat, if we should continue these baseball analogies.
Because to me, as soon as I leaned in for the kiss - my brain decided to use the only substitute on hand, the feeling of my lips against Plexiglas. Not that I wasn't constantly shoved into windows all my youth, or that I practiced making out with my iPod Touch (I'll leave your decision on which for you to decide). If you had something to eat in a dream, you would experience it as if it were real, but that's how you can tell if it's a dream or not -- is there something novel introduced? If so, your brain could never have made it up (or maybe I'm just not enough a savant to have those kinds of dreams).
Anyways, another flash. I wake up on a bench. Where am I? A cross between Pearson Airport and a GO Train station. A TTC train runs by as I explore, looking for a pizza place, because she wanted pizza, damnit. As the train passes, in the background, I see a ball pit. As I think about how I could possibly get into that ball pit, I wake up.
Yeah, don't try to read into any of that.
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