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Another one.
Apr. 30th, 2009 05:27 amLast night, for whatever reason, was not a good night. It was the usual sad, lonely, despairing feeling, but here's the kicker: I went outside to let Noel in, and there was a white car parked outside the house. Make and model were irrelevant, because it shocked me so much that I didn't care (and the fact that I wasn't wearing my glasses helped). That... was NOT fun. And Matthew had an episode yesterday, too. I can practically see my mother's heart breaking from watching the two of us go through this....
Point of the entry, though, is to describe the strange dream I just woke up from:
I had gone out to get shoes or clothes (or maybe both), with my parents. It was unsuccessful. On the way home, we were in my dad's car, but he kept hitting potholes in the road (187th Rd, going south), and not tiny ones, either. After much begging on my part, he turned the corner (91st Ave) and pulled over to examine the tires.
Somehow, he managed to get all four of the tires off the car without any tools, and started to examine the treads. The treads on one of them had a big SECTION missing that my father, somehow, didn't see. I did, of course, and pointed it out, but he insisted that it wasn't a big deal as the entire tread slipped off of the tire like meat from a soup bone. My father finally determined it only a minor inconvenience, and set to work putting the tires back on the car, inner tubes first, of course.
I decided I wanted to be useful (and learn a bit about how cars work lol) and help, so I gave fussing with the inner tube a try, but it was some weird, crazy rubber-band-like wrap-around setup that doesn't even make sense. I was interrupted from my task by some people who'd walked up and stood over my shoulder.
I stood up and turned around, and in front of me was a patio table (and the scene changed to, surprise, my patio). We were discussing a poem I wrote, and wanted to post on ff.n, but couldn't because they'd already had the account name I wanted for it (apparently, I'd wanted it for the sake of a related joke). In the end, I SLAPPED these people (there were three of them: two women and a man, much older than me) really hard to show that I wasn't fucking around and that that account was MINE, dammit. I didn't have to slap the guy to get what I wanted, and my dad was there glowering anyway to make sure they complied with my wishes.
Once they reluctantly agreed to pass off the account, I took the sheet that my poem was written on -- and the printed (Courier) copy -- and sat on the porch swing to do my final revision. ... Then I woke up. What the hell. XD
Back to bed ♥
Point of the entry, though, is to describe the strange dream I just woke up from:
I had gone out to get shoes or clothes (or maybe both), with my parents. It was unsuccessful. On the way home, we were in my dad's car, but he kept hitting potholes in the road (187th Rd, going south), and not tiny ones, either. After much begging on my part, he turned the corner (91st Ave) and pulled over to examine the tires.
Somehow, he managed to get all four of the tires off the car without any tools, and started to examine the treads. The treads on one of them had a big SECTION missing that my father, somehow, didn't see. I did, of course, and pointed it out, but he insisted that it wasn't a big deal as the entire tread slipped off of the tire like meat from a soup bone. My father finally determined it only a minor inconvenience, and set to work putting the tires back on the car, inner tubes first, of course.
I decided I wanted to be useful (and learn a bit about how cars work lol) and help, so I gave fussing with the inner tube a try, but it was some weird, crazy rubber-band-like wrap-around setup that doesn't even make sense. I was interrupted from my task by some people who'd walked up and stood over my shoulder.
I stood up and turned around, and in front of me was a patio table (and the scene changed to, surprise, my patio). We were discussing a poem I wrote, and wanted to post on ff.n, but couldn't because they'd already had the account name I wanted for it (apparently, I'd wanted it for the sake of a related joke). In the end, I SLAPPED these people (there were three of them: two women and a man, much older than me) really hard to show that I wasn't fucking around and that that account was MINE, dammit. I didn't have to slap the guy to get what I wanted, and my dad was there glowering anyway to make sure they complied with my wishes.
Once they reluctantly agreed to pass off the account, I took the sheet that my poem was written on -- and the printed (Courier) copy -- and sat on the porch swing to do my final revision. ... Then I woke up. What the hell. XD
Back to bed ♥
