Posted on: March 24, 2013


I had a dream.

Last night I dreamed that I was with a friend of mine (that one who made me invisible, shall we call him Blasted Thing, or BT for short) – apparently, I had managed to get hold of him! I wish I knew how, but I seem to have missed the previous episodes. Anyway, we were in a mall or something, and Anne Hathaway (??? What was she doing in a mall dressed as a cigar lady?) approached me and started screaming IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAYYYYYYY! And there were glitter or balloons or confetti or flower petals, I’m not sure. I patiently explained to her that she was mistaken, that it wasn’t my birthday at all, and she looked so disappointed. And then the BT butted in and said, “But you know what, we will pretend and do as if it were your birthday, so what would you like to do?” I was speechless with joy! And I was thinking of all the things we could do, like doing breakfast, or lunch in a nice place, or dinner, or cinema, or a walk, or a museum, or just sit there and stare in each other’s eyes, and I opened my lips to utter my wish, and…

…and then some real life neighbour decided that since it was kind of dawn-ish already it was the perfect time to drill the wall and wake me up, and lo-and-behold, I was speechless no more!

I am sure that they had gotten their new power drill for their birthday and were anxious to try it. And I bet they were hanging another present they had gotten, a picture. In all likelihood, the picture of a duck. Incidentally, guess what? Ducks can get depressed, too, and then they’re Depressed Ducks, which is so nicely alliterative.

By the way, did you know that? Depressed people dream more. Something about worrying more, and desperately trying to fix the cause for anxiety with dreams, and that’s why they wake up exhausted.

I must say, I haven’t noticed any difference lately, and my dreams were always, from what I hear from other persons, especially vivid and detailed; most people don’t even believe me, when I tell them some of my most elaborate dreams.

What has changed though, is that nightmares are still nightmares, but now happy dreams are nightmares, too. Because I always dream that no, that I was so silly, and that it was all a misunderstanding, and that everything is alright, and then I wake up all relieved and realise it was just a dream. And really this is worse than a regular nightmare, where at least you wake up to find out that the monster who chased you through the whole of Dreamville doesn’t really exist, and you are safely in your bed, and any monsters under it would have died aeons ago, choked by the ferocious dust bunnies.

I guess that waking up in a murderous rage like today makes for a welcome change.



So wait… your neighbor gets up at 5:00AM on a SUNDAY to use power tools? I say the death penalty is too good for him. He needs to be trapped in a mall with no exits, and every store is staffed by Anne Hathaway selling only discount shoes and Eastern Mississippi State logo snuggies.

Now that’s a bit radical, no? Perhaps we should give him the choice to go for the death penalty instead.

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