Tuesday, June 1, 2010

sleep walkings

Recently my friend came to visit me and we went out for drinks with my cousins friends and various persons from my textiles class. As often happens, the situation degenerated until we were snorting handfuls of coke and eatings bowls of weetbix. Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. "Dear me" I thought "It seems there is a highly annoying beeping noise that makes me want to neck myself". Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. Morning light, a hideous taste in my mouth. I've woken up and my alarm has been going off for two hours, which I assume was the culprit of my strange dream, pounding head and alarmingly bloated face. check the time: 8.33am. Oh, lovely. I get up and promptly stand on a power cord, swearing profusely. "Fucking cunting motherfucking shithead of a morning" I say to my stuffed bear with the calm intonation of one coaxing a small child to tie their shoes.

It seems I always have two recurring things in my life: strange dreams and mysterious injuries. I can only assume that the two are connected. Perhaps I have a Tyler Durden-esque alternate personality running a fight club in Newtown. Alarmingly, the other day I cleaned my room and found a drawer full of cans of baked beans, tuna, and a pair of pantyhose, and I'm not sure how any of these objects came to be. Theories include me climbing out my bedroom window and heading into the city to fight hobos for their evening meals, which would certainly account for the meager food collection currently stashed in my dressing table.

On Saturday I had a dream. I was having a party. My phone rang, I couldn't answer the calls. The entire dream was me attempting to dial my friend's number and failing, and then missing her calls, over and over. Then my phone rang and I was able to answer it. "Hello?" I said. "Sweetheart, it's your mother. Your aunt is dead. She left the twins to you; you're their legal guardian now". I woke up sweating harder than Kirstie Alley at the mention of a bake sale.

Then there are the strange injuries; the knee that has randomly become jarred, the bite-like bruise on my knee, the purpleness and swelling on my calf last thursday. Yet again, I feel that the fight club/hobo battle scenario is a key factor in this mystery.

"Eat half a wheel of camenbert cheese" my uncomfortably attractive tutor tells me. "Then you can have crazy cheese dreams just like Salvador Dali and tell me all about them!".

somehow I'm not sure I need to take this extra measure.

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