and it fit me like a glove…
no, actually. i didn’t. i like, never dream. or if i do, they’re either about answering the phone (because my alarm is going off) or not being able to find a bathroom (because my bladder is, in fact, going to explode if i don’t get out of bed). once or twice a year — maybe — i might have an actual dream that is not about avoiding getting out of bed, but those are rare. also, assuming i have any other types of dreams, i don’t remember them. ever.
maybe it’s because i don’t really do that whole “sleep” thing very often. or not sufficiently enough.
my friends, however, have fucked up dreams all the time. or really funny ones. scooter usually has some out of control funny dreams, and they are good stories. and the boy has some special ones. gravy usually had really weird, perverse dreams. and i do know people who dream about eating, or food, or whatever. i almost wish i did remember what few dreams i have, because maybe that could provide something to help stave off the work boredom. then again, there are always forts to be built out of old boxes, so dreams be damned.
and maybe it’s because i’m so lacking — or forgetful — on the subject matter myself that i think dream interpretation is such a laughable load of steaming horse shit. i mean, honestly, do people really take this shit seriously? subconscious and repressed memories and hidden urges and inhibitions and personal conflicts and blah blah blah. psychobabble is the greatest con of the century. maybe even the whole world. and usually any types of sites or books that “explain the hidden meaning of your dreams” or give “insight into your psyche” or whatever are just so…god damn they’re funny. stupid, fluffy bullshit.
just like horoscopes and psychics and all that astrological crap. the moon in whatever is setting your planets to psycho hosebeast…wear purple, and don’t eat yellow snow… i’m continually baffled as to how psychic hotlines make so much money, are you know…functioning…and shit. it boggles the freaking mind. if you’re that fucking “gifted” and shit, you should’ve won the god damned lottery by now. the crazy tarot reading shop in harvard square…how is that woman not a freaking millionaire by now. seriously, forsee someone’s future: they’ll win the lottery or get hit by a car and be awarded millions in damages or whatever. tell them about it. then strike a deal for profit. next: retire to poolboy island, full of fruity drinks and scantily clad mens.
sounds easy enough, right?
i’m sure ms. cleo would’ve been down with that shit. but nooooooo…she couldn’t even see the cops were gonna shut her down.
psychic powers, indeed.
and horoscopes…don’t get me started. i’ve known people who can’t function, can’t make any decisions unless it goes hand-in-hand with what their horoscope says. horse-shit! do you have any idea how many different horoscopes there are out there? nearly every god damned paper has one, thousands and thousands of websites, random flyers, tv shows, radio, whatever…they’re out there. like fortune cookies, but cheaper & not delicious in the slightest.
and i really couldn’t reconcile myself with doing anything the metro tells me to do. they’re always so vague and retarded anyway. i mean, it might be good to get into that business (or psychiatry) and make tons of cash off of completely retarded suckers…but still.
then again, there always is the onion horoscopes, which are freaking hilarious. and the nerve.com is pretty funny as well.
i just…can’t imagine taking this shit seriously. if some junk someone makes up about the day you were born right to the very second, and the shit you might come up with in your sleep is what’s guiding your life decisions, if you can’t function without this shit, and are actually living life like that…man, i want to know what the fuck kind of drugs you’re on.
and…where can i get some?
ETA — my week according to the nerve
Leo (July 22-Aug. 22):
You’re surrounded by innuendo and double entendre that you can’t decode. Everyone seems to be playing word games and referring to things you don’t know about. Sure, you may know a thing or two about analingus, but when it comes to sexless, thickly laid hipster irony, you’re lost. This may make you feel urgent and frantic. Try to take a deep breath, and realize that ass play is a lot more important than urban cool.
– nerve.com
words to live by!
