God I had one of the worst dreams of my life this morning.
It all sounds much more lame when I even just think about it, because it all doesn't come with the wriling sick feeling in my tomach. You have to keep that in mind over the next asinine tale. The whole time I was dreaming I was aware of feeling that sick drawn out way you do after about 4 or 5 hours of crying while awake.
Anyway, after JC left for work this morning I finally got back to sleep once the cats stopped using me a springboard and almost straight away I fell into what I like to call a "storyboard" dream. To explain that a little bit, I have lots of different dreams, and most are just montages of related or unrelated scenes. They are usually completely out of chronological order. The ones that usually have the most impact however are ordered and actually seem to be telling a story.
So, just like in all dreams, I live in my house but its actually more like a walk-up apartment house inside. It's still a log cabin in the middle of nowhere on the outside, but of coruse, that makes sense (the human brain?). So me and one of my sims come in and as I open the door to my apartment I see JC and his stupid friend Miller having sex.
(an important interjection: on the surface that sounds like it might be reasonable, but JC *used* to be rather bigoted in regards to homosexual men. Lesbians were fine however, and I should be one, but "fucking faggots" weren't acceptable. Through the magic of my lord and savior HBO however, he's been enlightened, first from Beecher and Keller's torrid blood soaked gay affair, then with David's sympathetic human relationship with Keith, he's grumblingly gotten used to the idea that they exist and aren't out to recruit him. In fact, they could be people worth knowing. He is still wary of those that might check him out, but hey, welcome to a woman's world..my goods have been on parade since I was 12 and I got used to it. Use it, become enlightened.--- so back to the story)
I of course pitch a shit fit, because affairs of any kind are a huge no-no and all of a sudden it balloons into one of those atomic fights and he's screaming at me about all of the guys he sleeps with all the time and how he's a real gay whore and I should have known and blah blah blah blah.
I just break down sobbing about how terrible it was that he brought that kind of disease potential into our home and what a terrible man he was and what a closeted asshole he was to lead me along, so he packs up and moves out.
I'm left alone with that sim lady and she makes some comment about the whole situation and I punch her in the face. It happens like all punches in my dreams though, and feels like suddenly I'm punching underwater and can never make contact hard enough to hurt. It's psychological gold, I'm sure I've said all I ever need to about myself right there, but its how it is.
Despite this fact, the girl dies. Or at least so I think, so I put her outside the front door (very logical, I remember thinking that to myself). Then I proceed to have a crying fit I really had to sit through in my dream. It reminded me of those times while working at a scum-place like McDonalds when I'd dream of my job for the 8 hours before I got up to go do it and I'd feel robbed as a human being.
Anyway, after that I woke up because the fucking phone rang and it was my mom wanting to know why I didn't come over yesterday when I was chasing dirt bikes. Then it was the lawyers secretary trying to get my mother over here *again*. Then 3 more unlisted or telemarketer numbers in a row.
Finally, I got back to sleep and had part II of the terrible dream. This never works when it's about spending the weekend at Peter Steele's sex ranch. I've rambled far to much to really describe it, but it was alot like the first half, but with more crying and begging w/ JC himself, and having the Sim come back to life to witness me trying to beat up JC with my underwater fists instead. He added a maniacle pleased with himself grin to aim at, but my ability to hurt him didn't improve.
Then I woke up and tried to assure myself that it was all nonsense and uck, but that damn stomach feeling won't leave town.
Whew, at least I got it written down. I really should start a written dream journal, but I don't have the patience to wait for my hand anymore. I always promise I'll make online things, but then I never do it, but maybe this time I'll be motivated. It'll depend on how many more of these dreams I have I guess.
