Here goes one of my dream journals – what little I can remember. It was sort of sad, and paranoid.
The first part of what I remember involved flying. TSA wasn’t being nice. They kept taking my passport away, telling me I need to go to the customer service counter to get a new one, because it was expired. IT’S NOT EXPIRED! I JUST GOT THE BLOODY THING!!!
Sorry. I’m irritable. I haven’t had my coffee yet, because I went back to sleep for 3 hours. I’m still recovering from the flu. Well, mainly, I’m just tired all the time, and my ears are still plugged, if that counts.
Anyway, the airport was very empty, except for the fucking passport line, of course. So, I take a number, and head to the food court whilst I wait for my number to be called.
I order some pizza and fries, and sit. But no sooner than I find somewhere to sit, my food is ready, and so is my passport – at the same damn time! How the hell? And in order to get either, I have to get on the fucking plane! EXCUSE ME?
By now, TSA jerks are laughing their asses off at me, and tell me to use my number to get on the plane.
And of course when I get on the plane, my pizza and fries are cold. The pizza I’ll take. I love cold pizza. Now give me a Long Island iced tea for my trouble. And when the tea came, I had to toss the fries, which a flock of seagulls (one of my worst fears ever) somehow snuck onto the plane and flapped around me to snatch up the fries.
Meanwhile, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs at the pilot because he wouldn’t stop the fucking plane to get the birds away from me. And, of course, a TSA bastard is in the back row, laughing some more at my expense. “They’re just birds!”
So I hide under my coat/tent so I can eat my pizza and drink my booze without being attacked by birds.
And then the plane lands, and TSA bastard gives me my passport. “Thank you for flying the friendly skies”.
For some reason, the airport cab takes me to my parents’ house, where they’re cleaning and packing things. Meanwhile, I’m on the phone with my ex-boyfriend (RIP), who is making some kind of plans. He asks me to come over and help him do stuff at his house (which happened irl one time when he had back surgery), and to pack clothes to stay for a few days.
Okay. When do you need me to be there? “An hour ago. But don’t rush. I’ll order some pizza for you”. IRL, he also ordered pizza for me for helping him get his room and clothes in order.
The odd part about me packing to go stay with him is my mother didn’t even object. No lecture about being a proper lady. No arguments. Nothing.
And then bathroom dreams and my bladder woke me up. Ugh. I hate when there’s no toilet in my dreams, and I have to pee in the shower. GROSS!