I'm not allowed to have dreams anymore.

Hm, not much to report about the holidays. I spent Christmas on the couch, with a cat on my lap, playing video games. It was awesome. I just needed a day to do nothing, the previous week was brutal. New Year's was more of the same -- lotsa nothing. Well, on New Year's Eve's Day, my brother Mike and I drove to Virginia to fetch my mom from my sister's house, and we got sneezed on by a bunch of kids that just got over the latest flu-like sickness, and we both ended up with it ourselves. So, all of last week was not fun. Luckily (or un-luckily maybe) my version of it was limited to general muscle pain and the dreaded Liquid Exhaust. So I was on a liquid diet for three days. Oh, but I lost so much weight, I fit into those jeans from high school! Ha, kidding of course. Felt lots better on saturday, good enough to hang out at Patti's Place (sounds like a horrible sitcom) and help change a flat tire. Sunday, though, started to feel worse, and now I have a run-of-the-mill head cold. When I feel better I'm gonna destroy that Mill where they make head colds.

Oh, the title of the post? Why am I not allowed to have dreams anymore? Hm, last night I had such a fucked-up dream, I just have to write it down. All names shall be changed to protect the 'bound to hurt me' -- well, there was only two recongnizable people in it, me and. . . one other. Nameless girl.

Anyway. . .

In said dream, I was at some place that seemed to be a run-down college campus, it was all wooden buildings and naked bulbs strung in the hallways. There were lots of people there, it was like there was just a huge party going on. . . it 'felt' like it was an animation convention, there were people dressed up in costume, but there wasn't really any animation going on. Everybody was drinking, EVERYBODY was drinking. . . The second-strangest thing about it was this round tower of a building, I guess it was an old wooden water tank or something, it was a vertical column about 40 feet high, maybe 80 feet across. The whole thing was 50 feet off the ground, there was a big metal spiral stair to get to the door. Inside was a bar and some TVs and couches and stuff, but there was also an upper floor made of metal mesh so you could see up there, and it was a big metal cage where people were fighting. Just for the hell of it, I guess. In the dream, I was bashing the hell out of people in the cage for a while. . . then there was other crazy stuff I won't try to relate, I don't remember it well enough. At some point, I wandered off to get some sleep, the sleeping rooms were just huge open rooms with a dozen metal-frame beds in them. The party continued inside, people were constantly going up and down the hallways doing all sorts of unsavory things. . . so in-dream, I'm in my underwear, and about to cover up and try to sleep, and I was trying to kick some passed-out guy off my bed, he had crashed diagonally across his bed and mine. . .

Now here's the fucked up part.

I start to hear a familiar voice from the throng in the hallway. Suddenly, in bursts Nameless Girl. She's wearing the bunny suit from "Melancholy of Haruhi", if you've never seen it, just think Playboy Bunny outfit, that works. . . anyway, Nameless Girl sees me and shrieks "Steeeeeeeve" and then runs over and flops down right on top of passed-out dude, she has her elbows on the bed and her head propped on her hands, is wearing a grin like she just discovered that her ass prints money, and is glowing like neon. Not literally, but it would have made sense in this dream. I notice that her hair is now done up in dreadlocks, with two long bangs braided with beads (say that lotsa times fast) hanging down at her temples, where earlier her hair was just straight. I say "hey [nameless], what's up?" Nameless girl, with a gasp, and in a cutesy, laughing, mock-defensive-but-obviously-guilty-as-hell tone, says. . .

. . .now get this. . .

"I didn't just double-bang some Jamaican guy!"

Nameless then pats my leg, bounces up, and runs out the door. From the hallway, I hear her shriek as she runs off, "YEAAH! I GOT SOME!"

. . .even in my dream, my thought was a very emphatic "What the F????"

. . .and that, dear readers, is why I'm not allowed to dream anymore. Nu-uh.