Another Late Entry, Another Dream

      Buckle up, buttercup, I'm just getting started.

      In The Sims 3, there are songs the characters can learn when they go on vacation. In my dream, one of those songs became a sound-track, with instrumentals, and it sounded amazing. That is what I heard as I saw a man leave his home, which, upon reflection, was the title character's apartment building from House MD. Not long after the man left, his wife began inviting multiple men into their home; but the husband returned early. Everyone began yelling, and then the husband started beating the wife's other partners to death...with a pillow. I saw the feathers fly.

    In the next scene, I hear a teenage boy rambling aimlessly, as though he were a teenage girl. Then I, of course, see House. He looks like he's a million miles away. He's visiting an amusement park or something. He's going to investigate the murder, because he's either a part of the LAPD or Chicago PD.

    Unfortunately that's all I can remember right now, but the Sims 3 song sounded incredible. Learned in China, the song is called The Love Of Xing Lo. I really don't want to forget how it sounded. But I will. It was played slower, and sung by a man who actually didn't sound terrible, like all the male Sims. That's even better than how fucking accurate it is! That's my new favorite dream right there. I mean, yeah, it's got a killer in it――but hey! At least he cushioned the blow...

Game Rambles

       I decided tonight that I would play Sims 3. It had been awhile since I geeked out like that in the AM. Things were going fine, until my Sims returned from France. It had taken me 7 out of 9 days of their vacation, but I finally, finally, got a high quality Avornalino. Then I started a mission about making nectar, so I put the fruit into her boyfriend's inventory, to make absolutely sure it wouldn't be used. When she was done, I put the fruit back into her inventory and they went home...and now it's nowhere to be found. Not in her inventory, not in his inventory, not in the family inventory.

      So weird. So many glitches. My Sim also should have maxed out her gardening skill, but once it reached zero, her tabcast died and then it said 14 hours. PMO.

     Hah, oops. Now she's pretty much a day late to work on her garden. It's not going so well right now, but I had an idea. I think this time around, she's going to have a child with her boyfriend, then I'll have him leave her, and she'll have another child with his brother. Or not; I kind of prefer to start with Sims who both have parents, and neither of them do. So maybe I'll make a single male for her instead. Again, or not. Hell, I might just keep her; do what I used to do. Max out every skill I know to exist, get a vacation home in all three places, and upload her to the Exchange.

      Everything's up in the air right now. Suits me fine. I can't under-stand people who only play for challenges created by someone else.

Late Entry

       I've been having some weird dreams lately, which I guess is what my blog is for now. My favorite weird recent dream is the Rollerblading one. It started out in a mall, and I was going from one end to the other, just practicing. Ended up getting so good at it, that I refused to walk normally. I kept my Rollerblades on and even skated through the grass, for some reason. Then a stranger offered me a ride and I ignored them, but they followed me. Luckily I could outdo them on wheels.

      My next memorable dream is when I had people trying to kill me, because I was exhibiting powers. Too much Lucifer, I guess. But they ended up burying me alive, and I fought my way out of the grave.

    And last night I dreamt that my mother made the decision to move my mattress into her room, which we did while my room was being renovated. Except in that dream, my bedroom was complete. Actually, it pretty much is. I even reorganized it to look like how it used to be, before all this. At three in the morning, all by myself; I couldn't handle being displaced anymore. After nearly 100 days of sleeping on the floor, it felt so good to be in my own space under-neath a functional light switch again that I turned it on and off a couple of times.

      But in the mattress dream, somehow my box spring was nowhere to be found. So I moved the mattress back, and bending the mattress into positions it can't be contorted into. And I'm a fucking lucid dreamer; my dream self could feel the work.

      Maybe that's why I'm always tired.

    I guess one of my favorite dreams is breaking into a palace that looked like tower-cut shards of obsidian. The inside was like a cave, though; but I've also dreamt of a gigantic luxury home. I wasn't in there legally, either. And lately, my dream always takes me to the same place; pretty much a room with a glass wall overlooking a balcony, and I'm always in time to see the sunset. That's where I ended up in the Lucifer-ish, buried-alive dream, too.

    I've also dreamt that Negan was punishing, or torturing, people. People who weren't always innocent. One of them was in the shower, and in my dream, it was me. I was looking through the eyes of that person as Negan opened the shower curtain and bludgeoned him to death. There were children and babies, too. But after realizing the error of his ways, Negan decided to punish Carol, who tortured a child in The Walking Dead. It was weird, and not my first Walking Dead dream, either. I've gone from running through the prison from zombies but turning into a fully coherent one, to sitting on a Dumpster with Hershel, and finally to being in a planetarium with Negan, and even the floor and ceiling are screens, too, so the stars are above and beneath us, not just in front of us. It was like we were hovering in space.

      That last dream was at the same time as the one where I was in the Abbotsford mall, but it was flooding. And then a car drove up the escalators and got trapped. I remember because I walked out of the mall and into the planetarium, which replaced the clothing store by the escalators. Which, in real life, it does not.

      Yeah... Dreams are bizarre. I've been wanting to post about them here for awhile now; kind of a late entry. I actually forgot how to justify text and resorted to looking it up. Then, of course, duh.

   I've had other dreams, too. Some of them, I even want to remember. Welcome to my online journal and the rat maze of my brain.

...

       Still waiting on those workers. Still sleeping on the floor. This level of incompetence should be a crime!

...

       Okay, so the hotel is done. On the other hand, my bedroom is not. First crew completed step one in 24 hours, turned our neighbor's suite upside down, and got fired. Second crew has done the insulation after not showing up on day one, put the plastic on over my light switch, and proceeded to bury a neighbor's outdoor seat with their supplies. I don't know if Crew #2 gets to keep their jobs.

      I just want it to be done. All of it. Pictures were taken, and uploaded to a relative's account; and I have to say, it looks more depressing online.

      I guess we found out about going to the hotel on the 19th. I've slept maybe twice since then. I'm so tired. And I'm tired of incompetence. For once, I want people who have their shit together. All these half-assed shit jobs. No. If you don't know what you're doing, don't do it. This was probably precipitated by another idiot, who decided to create a giant hole in my wall despite me telling her not to. If I'd physically stopped her, this probably could have all been avoided. I should have given it a whack. If you know what I mean.

Bed Babble And Beyond

       I've had three weird dreams this month. In the first one, I was in the passenger seat of a car, and my mother was driving. We were going to a party. Then I realized I forgot my mask, so when we arrived I stayed in the car. One of my friends―one of my dream friends, not one of my real-life friends, because the only one I have is in America―came to the window and slipped a spare mask in through the window. I'd like to stop here to note that I've dreamt of this person multiple times, don't know the gender, but this person is always really thin, with ebony skin and the tendency to refer to me as Bo. Or maybe beau, since I have no sheep. I get out, we hug, and then I follow this person to where the party is. We walk beside the house to the gate, and there's a crowd of people. Here is how I can tell it's a dream; everybody's glad to see me (and I'm wearing nice clothes). But as I'm walking, I can feel everything. I can feel my legs. I can control my legs.
      In the second dream, I'm the one behind the wheel. I don't know why, but a cop pulls me over just as I get to the driveway and tries to ticket me. And I bolt; trying to lose him in a maze of hanging laundry and a picnic table and kid toys. Not an actual maze, just a very busy yard.

      But the third dream? Oh, wow! This third dream is one I have also dreamt multiple times. My family and I walk into a house we just bought. We've never bought a house before, but in this dream, we have to be rich, royal, or loved by someone who is. I walk into my bedroom, and it's got its own bathroom. It's filthy, but it's mine. It's got a mirror that opens up with shelves, and it's already filled with products like perfume and medicine. It's got a window, and another door. I go through the other door and I find myself in a store. And everything inside the store is mine, it's free. Except the people milling around having to pay for stuff; they're not mine. And I'm standing there wondering how much I can carry, and why all these people have access to my bedroom.

      It was pretty bizarre. It often is. Sometimes I'm a bat, capable of hanging upside-down on a ceiling. Sometimes I'm looking at an intense sunset, or I'm at the ocean, or walking through a palace. I've spoken to the queen. I've watched the entire Buckingham Palace come crashing down because of one loose rock. But I can usually control myself and have complete sensation.

      I wonder how well I'll sleep at this hotel we're being forced into in a few days. My arrogant, noisy neighbor is getting forced into the same hotel, and all I want right now is to not share a wall with him. Well, that's not true, that's not all I want. I want to stay here with all my stuff; and if the landlord had kept his word several months ago, this would be over and done with already.

      In any event, I found a trick to keep myself from getting kicked for inactivity on Roblox, so I think I'll just let it play for the minimum of two days we'll be gone. So even if we have to stay longer, there's an upside; all that additional experience points and level progress I'll collect. Long as no one steals or breaks my computer. It will also be good to get off this fucking street. Who knows? Once I'm there, I might not want to leave. Maybe it won't be as bad as I think.

      Maybe I'll develop a third brain hemisphere. Whatever, this has to be done. Long as that arrogant, noisy, two-legged pig is not my neighbor. Oh, the images look nice! Great, it's got a pool. I don't want to see that guy in a Speedo. Better pack some books. I hear it's also got a gym and a computer room, so I may be able to talk to my friend from there. If I could just relax for the second time in all my life, this could be enjoyable. Anyone have any Valium? I don't even care about all my phobias when I'm high on that stuff.

      Oh, fuck. How could I have forgotten? There's probably Covid everywhere in there, not to mention all the other germs. And I'm about due for my period, and almost every food sends me into intestinal hell. Though I guess the bright side is, I won't be clogging anything. I'll just read my books, stay in the room and wait for it to be over and done with.

      I hope my suite has a balcony. I miss balconies. I haven't been on one since 2010. Underground suite, and then this house, with a little front stoop thing that's only big enough for two people if one of them sits down. A balcony, a quiet street, respectful neighbors, preferably no deaths. What do you think my odds are?

      When the landlord wanted to do yard work, they botched it up. Not once, and not twice. If I love this hotel, then fine. He can be stupid again and again. Which I'm sure he will be. I'm also sure I'm going to hate it there. I'm very sure Pigman is going to be our neighbor again, because we're going on the same day, which probably means room availability will be in the same number range. I don't know much about odds, but I know what my luck is like.

      If no one has Valium, how about a fast forward?

      I'm going to bed. It's as good a place as any to not sleep.

Torn

       So on the one hand, I have a really good friend now. He says he loves me, and this is the closest I've been to saying it back. He's taught me that I'm actually not dead inside; which is good. On the other hand, I'm in mourning. Cancer, May 7th. I never even knew she was sick.

      It's been one hell of a month. My brother ran over my toes and possibly broke them, my uncle survived a chain of heart attacks, and...oh, yeah, I lost an aunt to cancer, too. Not to mention my mother seemed more upset by her dream than the loss of her sister, but it's probably none of my business.

      All I know is that between everybody dropping dead in my life, and in Ukraine, and because of Covid, and because of astronomically retarded fuckheads like Kim Jong Un; this has been the fucking worst two fucking years of my fucking life. Worst part is, I have all these people telling me to smile, and cheer up; even the people who know that my friend is dead, who know that she is not the first friend I've lost recently. They want me to fucking smile. I think they're the ones who are dead inside.

    I think I've slept fives times since the 7th. Three consecutive dreams involving my (living) friend, and two nightmares on the same night. I feel like I should go back to bed, but I don't really see the point. I can do anything to try and induce sleep. Anything. But none of those things work. I honestly feel like resorting to violence just so I can be sedated. I have actually gone 11 days without sleep before, and on the fourth or fifth day, you kind of stop giving a damn. You kind of get numb to it.

      I miss being numb. Now I know this person, who's the only one I even like; and of course, he has to be an American. I'm never going to meet him. Not that long ago, talking to him always relaxed me, just as well as going to the river. But now it makes no difference, because all he is, all he can be, is an online-offline status.

      This sucks. The more people I meet, the more alone I am.

     I'm going to go now. I don't know where, but the blog has to end sometime.