July 12, 2004

Tell me why I don't like Mondays.

Because they suck, that's why. Before I rejoined the rat race of Mon.-Fri., I was fortunate enough to only work Tues.-Thurs. Little did I know what a leisurely pace that was. I always had a four-day weekend. Not that my house is ever as clean as I'd like it to be, it certainly came closer to it when I had the two extra days to work on it. Now I feel like I'm drowning in my own filth. We definitely need to get the vents cleaned. I'm sure that will make my life a little better.

I had a weird dream the other night. I'm in a public restroom pulling down my pants and underwear when I notice a shadow pass over me from the corner of my eye. I look up and there's a man staring down at me from over the stall wall. What's that supposed to be about? I'm sure somebody would say it has something to do with a fear of being exposed, but that's not really a fear for me. But it's weird. I have these dreams that don't seem connected to anything going on in my life and even as I'm dreaming them, in the back of my mind I'm wondering where does this come from. I have dreams sometimes where I'm screaming in the dream and I can tell that my body is actually trying to scream too, but I can't get the sound out of my mouth. I'll be somewhat aware of trying to scream and knowing it's not working. Those are weird, too. When I was studying French in high school and college, I'd sometimes have dreams in French where I understood everything and I spoke it properly, but I knew if I were awake, none of it would make sense as well as it should. How can you speak better French in your dreams than in real life?

I still remember that my first sexual dream was about Rick Springfield. I was in the 8th grade when I had it. Rick and I are walking down a hallway to his apartment. He's wearing a red satin shirt. It's open about three buttons down from his neck so you can see his chest hair. In the dream I thought this was really alluring, but in real life, I hate chest hair. Come to think of it, I don't even know if Rick Springfield actually has chest hair. So we get to his apartment door and he opens it and we walk in. There are candles everywhere and a fire is going in the fireplace. I am wearing a white blouse and tight Jordache jeans. In the dream I was grown-up and not an eighth-grader. So I sit down on the couch next to Rick and we start kissing, very tenderly as first, but then Rick becomes more demanding. I become lost in the heat of it all and I respond quite enthusiastically. It's all basically like a trashy romance novel after that. We don't actually have sex in the dream, but Rick does unbutton my blouse and performs a lot of nipple licking and sucking. At some point I take his shirt off, too, but we never take our pants off. Those stay on the entire dream. Anway, I woke up and had those strange tingling feelings (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) that I just didn't understand. I remeber feeling quite satisfied with myself thinking I was old enough to have sex dreams. I never did dream about RIck again after that, but he always holds a special place in my heart.

No comments: