they just stop working

there's a recurring theme i've had in my dreams for some time that's been increasingly prevalent lately. anyone who makes a habit of interpreting dreams is welcome to chime in here.

my legs just stop working.

i'm usually doing something completely unexceptional like walking down the street, when something on the ground will catch my eye and i'll squat down to get a closer look. and then i'll realize that my legs won't unsquat. i can only stand again and keep walking when i've dragged myself to a staircase or something, when i can swing myself out over a ledge with my arms and let gravity stretch my legs out again.

the other night i went to kick a soccer ball and my foot bounced right off it.

weird, huh?

just another rider burned to the ground

so the mustache. it's gone because as the novelty wore off i started to realize it was just making me really insecure whenever met someone new. and i was at a conference for work meeting tons of new people and feeling even more sheepish than i usually do. the booth next to mine at this thing was full of girls in bikinis handing out beer and talking about buying and selling used network equipment. it really just had to go.

the counting crows. they were amazing and completely renewed my interest in their first two records. and maybe a few songs on their third. it's funny because august and everything after is one of the records i look back on and think that when my mom gave me that record for christmas she really set me going in the right direction. and then recovering the satellites came along, and it wasn't as accessible, it was a rock record for the most part, and i felt like i belonged to something when i got to know it better. so they're old news now maybe, but they've contributed some fantastic songs to the world and i guess that shouldn't be forgotten. i snapped a picture but it's not great because you can't quite tell how portly adam is:

i didn't do any real writing in california like i thought i might be able to. i was just too tired and even though my hotel room had a separate shower and bathtub it was missing any kind of writing utensil. i did a lot of thinking though. i'm always doing a lot of that. maybe someday it'll get me somewhere.

yesterday morning when i got home from the airport and tried to sleep for a while i had a dream that i worked at home depot or something and a girl i used to know asked me if i could get her a discount on some carpeting or something. the details are fuzzy. and i remember i didn't really want to give it to her but i said "yeah, sure." then this guy comes out of nowhere and said "i need you to do that for me, too." and i guess he was supposed to be her new boyfriend or something so we got in a fistfight and i lost. there are very few things more emo than losing a fistfight over a girl. good thing it only happened in a dream. another way to look at this, if you're into talking about dreams, is that if you are losing fistfights in your own dreams then you are pretty lame. but i'm choosing not to look at it that way.

i ended up sleeping on the floor at my friend's girlfriend's apartment last night with a bunch of other people like a slumber party only for people in their mid 20's. so that was pretty weird and i woke up feeling pretty crappy in my back. still do. and i'm so goddamn tired.

tonight i'm shooting for some really awesome sleep. we'll see how it goes.

all i want for christmas is a good night's sleep

hey. nightmares again. as a little kid when i would have bad dreams and couldn't fall back asleep, i would sneak to the kitchen and get a glass of apple juice and the mere act of trying to be quiet enough not to wake my parents (if i did i was in trouble) usually tired me out. now i get up and browse teh intarnets. which does not tire me out at all. and i don't even have apple juice. but i do have tang.

they just executed tookie williams about an hour and a half ago. i've said it before but i'm compelled to say it again: i've done all the thought experiments and read a lot of the arguments and i stand firmly against capital punishment. and reading the news story about it just now i felt sick to my stomach.

maybe you feel the same and maybe you don't but either way a man died tonight at the hands of the state of california and no man is an island and all that. it just makes me really sad.

another thing. when i said nightmares. it's not nightmares, really. they're actually kinda nice dreams. but when i stir from them and realize they're just dreams, i get myself so worked up that i can't fall back asleep. for a few ficticious minutes the mistakes that i dwell on in the waking hours are undone, and when i wake up it's like i have to get mad at myself all over again for them.

i guess when you get older and you realize monsters aren't really what you should be afraid of in life but rather you should fear yourself and your decisions and your consequences then that is what constitutes a nightmare. i think i've talked about this before too. it's hard to keep track.

and then i guess the next step is learning to learn from your mistakes.

and then and then and then...

i could stay here and type bitter nothings to you all night long, but i'd regret it tomorrow (which, by the way, is shaping up to be a real hum-dinger). i'm going to try to go back to sleep again.

he called the shit poo

let's lighten the mood, shall we? this is a little more scatalogical than i usually like to get with the written word, but anyone who knows me personally knows i am capable of much worse. whatever. here goes.

i had this crazy dream the other night where i was a secret government interrogator and i needed information. and i had a special interrogation technique which i'm sure is majorly illegal in real life but at least i wasn't shooting anyone in the kneecaps like jack bauer. i would put a plate of dog poo in front of them on the table and douse it with rubbing alcohol*.

then i'd light the shit and say "you tell me what i need to know or i'll stomp this fire out with your face." and of course, if they didn't talk, i had to do what i had to do. eventually, they all talk.

what do you think that says about the kind of person i am?

* rubbing alcohol, in case you didn't know, is highly flammable. or inflammable. those words mean the same goddamn thing. why on earth?

nightmare on 143rd st.

as a kid i would have this recurring nightmare. i was driving a car on a dark road, no other cars in sight and woods to either side. and behind me was a man with a bloody axe, chasing me, screaming at me. and no matter how fast i drove, however many corners i took at breakneck speeds, he could run just as fast. and i knew that eventually i would crash, or run out of gas, and he would get me.

the best way i can describe him is this: think of how you thought god looked when you were a kid. with the white hair and the flowy beard. then put him in a red and black flannel shirt and some bloody jeans, and hand him an axe. and illuminate him with only your tail lights. that's what i used to wake up from in a cold sweat.

i guess as we grow up, so do our nightmares. i have them four or five times a week these days, and i wake up so upset over them that i can't fall back asleep. which is why i'm posting this right now after 3am on a work night. but now there is no car. no axe. no crazy man. there is only a couch.

and i sit on the couch, and people come and talk to me. people from the past, people from the present, people i've never met. it doesn't really matter who they are. what matters is that they all know my deepest insecurities. and it's all they want to talk about.

in the waking hours, you can run and hide all you want. they all know where to find you while you sleep.