Positively Disheveled

I am still suffering from post-match hangover. I didn’t drink beer to celebrate Barcelona’s victory or anything like that. I just spent every free minute since Sunday morning gorging myself on players’ and coaches’ interviews, photos, and analyses of the game. Funny how one can willingly give in to a useless obsession to the detriment of one’s sanity. I guess that’s why they call it an addiction.

I’ve got a raging headache now from trying to get some sleep. Don’t you just hate it when you just want to unplug your mind and you can’t? No one can accuse me of having a sluggish imagination. I can be thinking of football in one minute and then jump to my grocery list then on to the possibly evil creature lurking outside my bedroom window all in one second. Even when I am asleep my imagination won’t leave me alone. I get nightmares for ordinary dreams. You don’t even want to know what I see when I am having real nightmares. I’m not talking about run-of-the-mill-gosh-I-am-naked-in-front-of-the-class kind of dreams. On an ordinary night I get stabbed in the head with a pencil by a bunch of giggling girly girls (an effing Mongol pencil! WHY?!?). And that’s already benign in my book. In another dream I was in an empty bus with an old man and the Pope. Quiet, but the Pope was John Paul II. I knew he was dead. I tried to get off the bus but the door led to another bus then another then another. I zigzagged my way from buses to buses the whole time desperately trying to punch in my monthly travel pass in each one and shake the Pope off my tail. It’s curious because I had exactly the same dream almost 6 months ago but instead of him trailing me, I followed him and the old man out of the bus through a postcard sized door and into a tunnel.

I know you are itching to consult the dream dictionary, but I don’t want to have any of it. I do have my own interpretation of each of my dreams. I always try to see it in the context of my present life instead of picking a possible meaning from the internet. It’s much more interesting that way because I can choose to make up even wilder explanations for it. And sometimes I just kick back and enjoy it like an HP Lovecraft inspired movie. My friend Jessica told me to sketch my dreams. Maybe I can put together a book someday. A lot of people go to seminars and sign up for workshops just to come up with images and stories I conceive when I’m asleep. At least I don’t spend hundreds of dollars on drugs to get a trip.

Yeah, I should count my blessings. That thought doesn’t relieve my headache though or silence the spooky scratching noises outside the house. Oh well. I guess it’s business as usual.