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Oh, Ironman! February 11, 2006

Posted by brianna in Verbosity.

I should be packing.

I’m not, but I /should be/. Because…I’m moving to Florida. And should be leaving on Monday, or Tuesday.

Is anything packed? No. Is my car serviced? No. Have I tied up any loose ends? No.

Have I compiled two fantastic CDs for someone I’m attached to? Yes! Yes, I have! Have I knit roughly three inches of sweater sleeve? Yes, I have done that, too!

Does any of that contribute to moving or packing in any way, shape or form? No, of course not. I’m a winner that way. And this Oreo nobake thing is /delicious/, and so bad for me I’m seeing stars. Love you, Oreo no bake.

I am having tons of fun with these CD compilations. It tickles me to put the most bizzare stuff on in some sort of order. ‘Harder Better Faster Stronger’ to ‘Bushes’ to Aqua’s ‘An Apple a Day’ to Depeche Mode! Crowded House to a Cirque du Soleil track to Captain Tractor’s ‘The Last Saskatchewan Pirate’ to Pizzacato Five! It is fun /and/ multicultural! Hopefully I will rise out of my intertia and actually burn them and send them off….or, who knows. I might get sad and they might just sit on my computer for all eternity, glaring balefully at me whenever I open iTunes as I will my eyes to pass over them as if they don’t exist.

It’s really a tossup

I had the oddest dream last night. Or, this afternoon, as I am a vampire who sleeps during the day.

I was doing some sort of audit checklist, and for some reason it involved lots of family things ‘Did you go hiking? Did you spend some time in a canoe in the water?’ and I’m checking these things off. In the process, I come across a picture of myself at 14 or 15, standing on a steep trail surrounded by neighbors smiling and waving from a dock a little in the background. It has that ‘lakewater brown’ sort of tint, like alot of older photos do. I’m staring off into the distance, face bare, hair bobbed to a bit above my shoulders and messily tangling from under a baseball cap, in a shapeless long sleeved cotton shirt and hiking boots. I look completely untouched, but…melencholy.

So, the me who is doing the checklist…steps into the picture and step around so I’m facing my younger self. She looks surprised, and I take her hand and jerk my head to my car…


She walks to my car uncertainly and runs her finger along the crack in the windsheild, and I make a sympathetic little grimace…I know, but there’s nothing I can do. She gets into the passenger’s side, and I want to kiss her for some reason…not sexual, just…who knows (Can you really want to kiss yourself out of desire and not some odd feeling of melencholy recollection?). I mean, the dream is already pretty odd, right? By this time, the family has realized she’s gone, and they’re frantically running up from the lake calling her name. I put the car into drive and speed out of the parking lot as two boys on bikes come around, obviously trying to find out where she/me’s gone. They spot the car and come after it, while I get caught up in traffic and stoplights. By this time, she’s laughing, and I’m her, too, anxiously looking out the window knowing I’ll be in trouble if we’re caught. I can see the boys in my rearview mirror, and I’m anxious…I know they’re trying to get a plate number, and they’re close enough to see it.

Right now, all I can think is ‘I can never go back…there is no way for this to end well’

I veer off into a housing complex, and she perks up…she knows the college students who live here. We park the car and go into an apartment where various people are lounging around…

And end up having a big happy ‘RENT’ party, everyone acting out ‘Today 4 You’, complete with jumping and drumming. It was fabulous, and I’m thinking….well, maybe this will be ok…until we see people driving slowly around the cars in the parking lot, and my heart sinks. I have no plans, I don’t know why I kidnapped the younger me, where we’re going, what we’re going to to….but she has an idea.

By this time there are police officers everywhere in the canyon behind the house. We slip down a mud embankment, and now somehow she is a man with a gun, and it’s pointed at my head. It’s brilliant…the kidnapee is becoming the kidnapper. I argue for a bit…the police will see the mudslide we’ve caused and will know it’s not just spontaneous, but he shushes me, and with one arm wrenched behind my back and the gun at my head, he yells at the police, marches me to the car…and we’re off again.

And I think ‘I can never go back’.

And then I woke up. But I ask – what on earth did I eat last night that gave me this dream? Sometimes I have those ‘I have done something insane and now my life is ruined’ dreams…usually the dream begins /after/ I’ve done the horrible thing, and I am terrified. I fall into a situation where I’ve killed someone, and they found the body and all of the pre-dream justifications seem silly and weak now and what am I going to do? And all through the dream is the idea that I can never go back.

And I think ‘What on earth is wrong with me?!’. Surely it isn’t normal to have occasionally recurring dreams of killing people. That’s a little alarming in and of itself. But waking up from the dreams doesn’t end things…I carry around the terror for the rest of the day…it’s like an oily skum on my skin that I can’t quite wash off.

I am the only one who finds my dreams interesting.

Why can’t I pack with the powers of my mind? Sitting cross-legged in my bed, blanket around my shoulders, mentally commanding clothes to fold themselves, books to pack themselves in an orderly fashion….it would be so nice. I’m all overanxious about this…have to buy two new cat carriers, have to fit all this new crap in the car (how? how?), have to keep track of receipts and remember to keep enough cash onhand for tolls (It’ll be around $40. Sheesh), and driving on the interstates again…it’s been about a year since I’ve been on a major interstate for more than fifteen minutes. And hoping the car is a happy camper through all this and then seeing the parents again….augh. And at the end of the long anxiety tunnel is the job nugget of gold that will tide me over to the summer ‘workfest 2006’ of 80 hour weeks.

I want to go back to bed. This has been the most disjointed and boring yet.


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