Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

eegah

Lots of dreams lately. Last night I dreamed that I was playing hide-and-seek with a Terminator, up and down the halls of an empty building. At one point I evaded him by jumping down flight after flight of stairs--I'd hop over the rail to land on one flight of steps, then do the same down to the next. Like, if there were six flights of stairs, I wouldn't hit more than six steps to reach bottom. Wish I could do that in real life. I felt very athletic.

Eventually we met up behind the building among bombed-out, postapocalyptic urban ruins, as people do, and I shot the guy nonstop until I'd emptied my pistol clip. He had eight bullets in him but was still standing. I pointed this out and in turn he pointed out that he was not going to die. Bummer. He then tricked me into thinking we could be allies. He had a shuttle waiting to take off and he opened the door and waved me inside. I called for my cats, looking out across the wasteland, but they didn't come. "They'll probably be all right," I said. "They're cats (after all)." He agreed. Then the two cats came galloping up like little horses and hopped into the shuttle. I got in, and the door closed behind me and I realized I'd been had. He was going to blow the shuttle up. So I split into two of myself, as people do, and one of me opened the side door and jumped to safety, leaving the cats behind to fly off and go boom.

Later, I dreamed that I was trying to get myself off on a carpeted floor, rather ineffectually and with the gasps of a flopping, oxygen-deprived fish, while cats crawled around me.

Damn cats.

For lunch I had two pieces of someone's baby shower cake. I don't know if it was decadent--a word I associate with expensive, rather than trashy pleasures--but the frosting was about two inches thick and I felt deeply obscene afterwards.

My fingers have been hurting off and on lately. I'm forced to take pain relievers and sometimes can't type when I'd like to. So last night instead of writing I made some pasta and watched a crap movie, A Guy Thing, solely on the strength of Jason Lee, which was a mistake. Big, big mistake. Sometimes you just can't rise above your material, and diarrhea jokes are only funny once in a lifetime, if that, and that once was "Dumb & Dumber." If that. Then I had angel food cake and strawberries and chocolate ice cream and whipped cream and Dilettante hot fudge, because I am a CREATURE, and lay half-asleep on my couch and watched "The Creeping Terror" (MST3K) for maybe the dozenth time. I find Mike and the Bots comforting.

And now it's time to go home.
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