"It's all about the triumph of intellect and romance over brute force and cynicism." Okay, so that's Craig Ferguson talking about Doctor Who, but this blog endeavors exactly that. Lofty yes, but what the hell, why not. Onward, my romantic intellectual companions!
I had a pretty great first week back in classes (which is a plus - after a rather mundane last semester, I am pumped to have some pretty exciting ones). However, fun took its toll and I had a pretty weird-ass dream Friday night.
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So I feel like I'm watching the movie Fright Night but am also this character in it. There's this girl who's hanging out at the bar kind of on her own, kind of with friends, and Jerry the vampire - ala Colin Farrell - comes up to her. He's trying to seduce her in that Dracula-type way but it's not really working so he drugs her and knocks her out and she wakes up in this backroom of the bar and has to fight her was back to the main bar area. But then the dream restarts, from the beginning, only both the vampire and the girl remember what happened previously. So the girl is way more wary of the vampire but he's also way more convincing. And he keeps trying to slip blood into her drinks (because isn't there some thing about how if you drink a vampire's blood you're semi-vampiric? Or am I way off-base here?). But she's having none of it and apparently Jerry the vampire is responsible for trying to kill one of her friends. And he's all like, "It wasn't me, babe - I'm not a bad vampire. Really, being a vampire isn't evil - I make good life decisions. So join me 'cause I'm hot." And so on. But the girl escapes once again but AGAIN my dream starts over (and some part of my subconscious is like "WTF? Fright Night was NOT this scary the first time I watched it!") and the girl really wants to get the hell out of that bar before it becomes some creepy rip-off (yet higher budgeted) version of Dusk Before Dawn but Jerry is so damn convincing (and hot) so the girl's about to give in. But someone helps her or something and she escapes and she's running outside. And suddenly she fully becomes me and there's no more of this weird split-perspective thing and I'm running past Walter Library with someone. And Batman - not like the cool, Christian Bale/mod Batman, but the Adam West/ I'm-wearing-a-really-terrible-grey-spandex-suit Batman - is swinging from the Grecian columns on the facade of the library. It's raining sideways, and Batman is proclaiming that because it is raining sideways, this (of course) is a sign of the Apocalypse. I find this a bit odd but follow whoever I'm with inside the library, just in case. And also, I don't want to run into anymore vampires.
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So yeah... No idea where all this came from in its rather unique, vivid and terrifying splendor. And for some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It seemed full of symbology and weird connections to all kinds of vampire stories (except for maybe Twilight. Lies - Jerry was trying to be all sympathetic and Byronic like Edward. Fail. At least he didn't sparkle...).
But why this dream? Yes, I have been trying to find Fright Night used because I want to buy it but I'm cheap. I've been thinking about Gothic writing a lot here due to some of my classes and because I'm trying to resist the urge to read Jane Eyre for the 20th time, The Phantom of the Opera for the third, Dracula for the third or fourth, and go see Beauty and the Beast in 3D. Yes, Beauty and the Beast is not a Gothic novel... but that castle in the movie looks pretty damn Gothic to me. And Gaston is the funniest Disney ever. And somehow, I think dwelling upon Gaston's muscular build reminded me of Jerry the vampire somehow... and thus maybe there's the root for some of this weirdness.
I still have no idea where the fuck Batman came from.
I just watched Super 8 with my parents tonight and I realized that I've been having a lot of bizarre dreams in connection to it.
Like just the other the night I dreamed that Freddie Highmore, looking just like Charlie in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was my son (how my son was British, I'll never know) and he ran off into the forest (that looked just like the forests in Martha Marcy May Marlene) and teamed up with this architecture and science crew to build this secret lab to study aliens. And then he got arrested by the US government and I was really upset - both that the Freddie Highmore kid ran away, and that the government arrested him.
And then some time ago I dreamed that I was walking on this pedestrian bridge over the interstate, this one that's covered in wire fencing and ended up at some substation were this huge wooden fence had been built up around the electrical devices. Something was living back there and trying to tear its way out. The military arrived and I tried to escape but my way was barred by broken fence material so I started climbing the fence and swinging on it like a monkey. I had outrageous upper body strength and realized that whatever creature was living behind the fence was giving me some sort of superhero skills. So I escaped before the military could apprehend me.
Yeah, so I should seriously stop watching sci-fi. Like that's gonna happen.
And while I'm on the topic of weird dreams, I keep having this reoccurring one where the same thing happens - for no apparent reason, my teeth get loose and fall out. I had it once this semester and then again just last night. I mean, there I was, eating or something, and then I realized my two front teeth were loose. And suddenly the came out like baby teeth. And I woke up with "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth" in my head and I was not happy. But I've had this dream at least six or seven times over the last year or so and I have no idea why. This terrible dream dictionary I have says it means I'm worried about some relationship or friendship or something. I think it means I have some weird phobia about my teeth. Oy.
Another late night blog, because I was woken up by a saxophone player. Yes, you read that right. A man with dreadlocks was playing the saxophone, standing outside the house across the street, in the dark, loudly playing the opening of George Michael's "Careless Whisper" while a guy in a Gumbi costume danced around him.
I've never done drugs, but I got the feeling like this might be one of the crazy hallucinations 'shrooms might cause. Don't do drugs, kids. This was whack - and I WASN'T HIGH. I SAW THIS, SOBER, WITH MY OWN EYES. OUTSIDE MY WINDOW.
I just can't believe it was REAL. I mean, yeah, it's Halloween weekend, but I was in bed, half-asleep, and then I heard the saxophone (and was beating myself up for not remembering the name of the song it was from) and then I tried to figure out where it was coming from because it was SO LOUD. And then I saw Gumbi. And then they and two other guys made their way down the street, while the saxophone player continued to blast the song which my searching for its name was calls "the song they play when people start having sex in movies" as they made their way across 35W into Dinkytown.
Really, I'm writing this right now because I've got the sax solo stuck in my head and I had to figure out what the fucking song was! And also, I want evidence that I just saw what I saw... because this was weird enough to have been a dream. And by tomorrow morning, I might just think it was. Thus, here is the evidence that it was not so. It was real. I just saw Gumbi dance to George Michael. I need to get some fucking sleep.
It all started when I got home last night at around 9:20 pm from band. I was checking my email and the Twitter universe when [Львица]'s phone rang and the girl from apartment #3, a basement unit, said her bathroom was flooding. [Львица] went down to investigate while I got the key from the lockbox for #103, as we thought it might be a leak from that unit. As #103 wasn't even home, we were kind of confused how there could be a leak (as most water issues from the pipes seems to occur when the person in the unit above is using the shower). [Львица] went to deal with #103 while I went to go help the tenant in #3 with the leak. As soon as I saw the bathroom, I froze.
The water was ankle deep and pouring out from the ceiling like a waterfall. A bottle of some sort of hair product was floating around and water was seeping into the carpet of the rest of the studio apartment rather quickly, turning it into the consistency of a swamp. I stupidly ran to get some towels, trying to figure out how to keep the water from spreading further. It did little good, as the towels were soaked in an instant. I ran to grab some buckets to start capturing water in while the ceiling tiles fell down, turned into what felt like soggy cardboard-like things and covering the floor in gritty sand-like stuff and staples. I set up some buckets and a giant trash can and, with another bucket, started dumping as much water as possible down the shower drain. Within minutes I was soaked by the onslaught of water from above. I continued to bail out water, like a sailor in the bottom of a sinking ship, and hoped to God one of the valves [Львица] was shutting off would finally do the trick. Eventually, she just shut of the water to the entire building and the water ceased its waterfall-esque activity.
[Львица] took over trying to salvage #3 bathroom while I went to each unit (23 in all) to tell all 34 tenants that the water was off in the entire building. #5 and #4 already knew; #5 is right next door to #3 and she had water seeping into her room from the leak. #4 heard the noise and came out to investigate and also had water at the edge of one of their doorways, even though their apartment is across the hall. I wish I could have tape recorded everyone's reactions as I went to each room, drenched from the leak with my hair plastered across my head like a wet squirrel and water pooling up around my feet from my saturated jeans. I returned to the basement to find that there was no longer any water standing in the bathroom but that the carpet was turning into a lagoon. After many calls to our landlord and his sister, we got an emergency clean-up crew to come out and vacuum the water out of the carpet and our friend Dan the plumber to come and fix the pipe. It was now around eleven o'clock at night.
The ceiling after the leak... photo courtesy of [Львица]
Apparently, whoever designed the plumbing in this building was on crack. Plumbers show up, look at the rows of pipes and the valves for each stack and open up the walls and just shake their head. There were pipes in #3 that had duct tape around them. Not plumber's tape; DUCT TAPE. Seriously? I mean, c'mon.
We got the water mopped up from the hallway, the girls in #4 expressed their consolation that we have the worst job in the world, and the kind-of drunk flood rescue crew and the kindly plumber arrived to save the day. After much-to-do, the carpet was mostly dry, the pipe was temporarily fixed (it was all caused by two pipes that separated... however the hell that happened) and the very tired building managers could finally go to bed.
Except that it wasn't over yet. Today, when I got back from class (yes, I did go to class despite getting only 6 hours of sleep; I think that's more than some kids usually get, so...), the plumber (a different plumber - Mike, who we'd met over the summer) was here to permanently fix the problem. Except that the problem started traveling upwards. Once the leak stopped in #3, it went up to #103 and started coming out. A hole was made in #103 and water started spurting out, making the carpet wet. Mike had to leave to go to another appointment, but another guy was supposed to come. Except that he didn't, we didn't have the other guy's number and Mike just left with an active leak. It kind of felt like this (minus Sam Neil):
So [Львица] shut off the water again, we waited for Mike and Jim, Mike's boss to return, and I did my Italian homework. The plumbers returned, made a hole in #203's room and finally figured out how to fix the leak. After deciding that the plumbing in our building is just insane.
We were joking about the other day how we feel like all the water in the building was collecting in one area and going to explode. Except that we thought that it would be in our apartment, since we had a leak above the sink (which isn't actually a leak... there's no water coming out of the pipe; it was just strangely damp. Who knows...). And then the explosion in #3... *sigh*.
As of now, all is well (KNOCK ON WOOD). All I can say is this job certainly keeps me on my toes. And Mike Rowe of "Dirty Jobs" fame totally missed out on what would have been the most epic episode of his show ever.
As you might have seen from the previous post, the nighttime has not been so kind to me recently. At least where sleeping is involved. This has been a common event for the past few weeks. Of if not kind, at least rather strange.
I was lying in bed the other night, feeling crappy about school, feeling crappy about my social life, feeling crappy about everything in general, for no good reason. Then out of nowhere, a flashback occurred. (Yes, those generally only happen in movies. But they are happening more and more frequently in my life. What the hell does that mean?)
It was from this summer, in July after I had gotten back from Scotland. I was back on the edge of the lake on the lake property we have in Indiana (it sounds regal and expensive but I can promise you it's not. It belonged to my grandparents; it's not like we have a cabin on the lake... which makes us stand out from many Minnesotans, who do. I think we're actually the only people in the entire state who travel south to stay on the water). I was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, watching my cousins cruise around in their speedboat and enjoying a tasty beverage with my parents. It was a bright, warm, sunny PERFECT day, before the absurd Hoosier humidity set in.
I realize that this very well might have been the happiest moment of my entire summer. Perhaps the entire year so far. It's weird to think in that moment, I was truly, totally happy. I was on a post-Scotland high, the stress of the class being over and the memories of my adventure still potent. It was before the difficult issues with my relatives came up. It was before I realized that [No-Mr-Darcy] was never going to text me. It was before I realized that this year was just going to be another school year. It was still when I had sheer, unadulterated joy and hope.
Not to say I have no joy or hope now. I do; it's just far more muted than it was then. But for some reason, when this memory flashed back through my mind, I felt less numb, less pissed off, just generally HAPPIER. Maybe because it was the last bit of relaxation I got before real stress started setting back in. Stress from going back to school. Stress from friend issues. Stress from my family - not my parents, but my extended family. There was inner peace I had that I just haven't acquired since then. The closest I get is when I remember this day. What the hell is that about?
Not to say I've been totally utterly miserable the last few months - I of course haven't. I have had some fabulous days. Going out and trying new things with [Львица]. Going to Radio K. Meeting up with my parents. Talking to one of my professors from last year about how awesome Scotland is. Writing on this blog. But still, at the end of the day, when I get ready for bed, this lingering, dull ache that appears in my gut. And I just wish I could get it to go away. It's putting me in a blue funk and ruining my positive outlook on things. It's like I feel homesick... but for what, I have no idea. I've never been homesick for Indiana. I don't want to go back there. But I feel like it's representing something in my mind. Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard about this.
Okay, maybe I do miss Indiana a bit. Or maybe this song always makes me tear up with a weird element of Hoosier pride (by the way, this is not Indiana's state song - which is "On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away." It's mentioned, but "Back Home Again in Indiana" is actually just more popular than the actual state song). But I still think this is a cover for something deeper. Besides, this song made me feel homesick even when I lived in Indiana. 'Tis the nature of the song.
Whatever is bothering me, it's more than [No-Mr-Darcy]. It's more than school. It's more than [X]. It's more than work. I hope it's not just a 20-something's ennui with being single, being strange, and being studious. I've complained about these things until I'm blue in the face. It's something else. Like tonight... out of nowhere, I suddenly had the urge to cry. Well, not out of nowhere - there must be some reason. I just don't know what it is yet.
Maybe it's time I try something else. Maybe it's time to talk about things I've been mostly silent about thus far - Indiana, my family, glimpses of the past. Why not start tomorrow? It seems like a good time. After all, tomorrow a huge family event is occurring. One that just might change everything.
This is Sid. And because of Sid, the fact that I can't sleep just got way less important. Seriously, I just heard Beirut on David Letterman, which was a nice perk. And then the first thing I see on The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson is Sid. Who is the best.
You see, Craig Ferguson for reasons unknown to me likes using puppets sometimes to start off his show. And Sid is my personal favorite. He looks cute, cuddly, and adorable. His voice apparently sounds a bit like David Beckham. And he's from South London and swears like a sailor. The paradoxical relationship between cute, cuddly toy and swearing, rabid creature is wonderful. Especially when you've just realized that lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and crying and feeling sorry for yourself is a waste of your time and, as it is conveniently 11:30 pm Central time, you might as well get up and watch your favorite show. And thus, my insomnia was rewarded by Sid. Thank you, Craig Ferguson and writers of CBS, for understanding my insomnia to a T. Even the theme song says it all...
I had another one of those dreams again. The shitty ones. It's amazing how painful and vivid they can be when they're not even real.
I don't remember most of it, I just remember being at this dorm or hostel or garage sale - SOMEWHERE - and being upset because [No-Mr-Darcy] hadn't spoken to me in three months or something (actually, it has been three months. Nice job at doing math, subconscious). I was complaining to [X] I believe and then [No-Mr-Darcy] turned up and had some valid excuse for not talking to me or something. Then he asked me out for coffee and I felt bad for ever doubting him.
Which is totally fictional. He's never even tried to contact me. So why do I keep having this stupid-ass dreams?
It's the sort that of dream that sticks with you throughout the day, that pops up at random times then suddenly disappears, only to come back at the end of the day when you're all relaxed and you can't remember why you were stressed out earlier. The sort you don't know if you want to talk about because it's so vague and airy but you feel tempted to do so anyway, just to get it off your chest.
I know I said I was going to stop talking about [No-Mr-Darcy] about a million times already. I mean, how do I have the right to be so beat up over someone I hardly know? And yet my subconscious won't give me a break. Every other week it's like this now. And I think I know why.
I keep debating whether I should ask [X] if she's talked to [No-Mr-Darcy] at all. If he's mentioned me, shown the slightest inkling in wondering if I still exist. But I'm afraid of what the answer might be. If he hasn't asked about me, it shows he doesn't care in the slightest. If he does ask about me, he probably thinks it's my fault that things didn't work out. And there's no easy way to bring this up in conversation with [X] (which is limited anyway) without sounding desperate or conniving or just plain weird. Or thinking that I still care for him.
Do I still care for him? I can't say yes, I can't say know. It's limbo all over again. Thus I haven't mentioned any of this to [X] at all. But now I think it's beginning to wear at me. I have to know, even if it tears me apart.
Really, what difference would it make if I knew? None. It's not like I really feel up to trying to work things out or anything. It's not like he probably does either. I guess I just want this little uncertainty erased, to see if I can regain any of my pride. To see if I'm owed any sympathy. I don't really know what I want. But it certainly wants something from me. Else my subconscious wouldn't be fixating on it so.
And yet, at the same time, I feel like I'm waiting for something - either the opportune time, for me to just get over it, or for something else to happen. Ah, time - how you baffle me. I've gotten no sense of the opportune time, and I certainly don't seem to be getting over it. Maybe it's time I take matters into my own hands. I can't force myself to forget. I can't force myself to let go. Maybe I should ask [X], maybe I should grow a pair and ask [No-Mr-Darcy] what the fuck happened.
But no decisions now. I always get melodramatic when it gets later at night. I'll sleep on it, and see how I feel tomorrow. If more of the same... well, maybe it's time to try something different. Maybe something I haven't even thought of yet. We'll see... time will tell. I hope.
So here I am, once again, unable to sleep. Sitting in front of my computer in my dark apartment, listening to the fan blowing semi-cool air around the room, hearing the background buzz of traffic whisk by and feeling my eyes slowly droop and my mouth suppressing a yawn. I should definitely be sleeping. Except that my subconscious chose this relatively quiet Friday night to torture me.
It started the other day with a dream. A very stupid dream. It was about Scotland again, or at least the group from Scotland. Where exactly we were, I wasn't sure. All I know is that I was talking to [No-Mr-Darcy] and he was giving me the total cold shoulder and I couldn't figure out why. Then I was talking to this guy that sort of looked like Alan Cummings (why do people who vaguely look like celebrities keep appearing in my dreams? What is this? Some sort of symbol of how media-saturated my life is?) about why in the heck [No-Mr-Darcy] was avoiding me. And then I was making out with Alan Cummings look-alike. And then he was like, "Well, duh, maybe that's why the dude's avoiding you, because you'll make out with anyone. You're a moron." And then I woke up. Shitty, right?
I can probably explain where my subconscious fear of sluttiness came from. Since August, I feel like every guy I've walked past I appraise as a possible boyfriend (okay, not every boy, but I've used the term "hot" more often than I ever have before in my life. Maybe I'm just becoming more aware of attractive men. Or maybe I'm just being a jerk and objectifying them). I feel like now that I'm still beating myself (and [No-Mr-Darcy]) up about this whole awkward summer thing that now I'm just looking for any guy, that any guy will do, just in the desperate hope that someone will like me. Which his totally not what I want to be doing. I DON'T need a boyfriend. I AM happy being single. But Jesus Christ, I thought I was over this whole [No-Mr-Darcy] thing. I stopped talking about it. I was fine with it. But then I got really angry at him. And then I had that dream.
And then I saw HIM - [tedesco]. A guy I fancied I... well, fancied. I ran into him shortly after school started and, though it wasn't as awkward as it might have been, it reminded me of how much I cared about [tedesco] last spring. And reminded me that he too had been in one of my recent dreams.
Somehow, this is all leaving me feeling very bizarre. I feel like shit about how things turned out with [No-Mr-Darcy] and that, even if I want to be friends with him, I don't know what to do now. I want to ask X if he's mentioned me, said anything about me... but I don't know if it's worth it. What good would it do? Nothing would come of it. It would probably just hurt me more. And yet I keep mulling over it in my mind, not able to let go until I know. He's caught up with all the other guys I've thought I liked, fictional, real, unattainable, gay - WHATEVER - and I can't seem to get any of them out of my head at the moment. It makes me feel sort of shamed at all the ones I've foolishly fallen for and how it's come to little more than nothing. Of course, I have to remind myself that it's also one in the morning and I often get rather stupidly glum when I haven't slept.
Maybe all I need is a good, solid sleep and I'll feel better in the morning. I probably won't have any more answers than I do now, but at least I'll be able to look back on this post and remark, "What was I thinking?"
And if I don't say that... well, I'll figure that out in the daylight.
So I finished the serious post first today, because I sincerely doubt that my brain will be working very well as the day wears on. I was awoken by thunder, torrential rain and hail at three this morning. And then at five, I awoke with an achy stomach and inexplicably terrified after having the scariest nightmare I've had in years. Or maybe ever.
So this is what it was: I was hanging out in this living room that looked like a mix of the townhouse I lived in on campus last year and the living room of my old house in Columbus, IN. Supposedly, the power was out due to a storm, but I was watching TV with [mind ninja] and [your cat is evil]. Then this ad for a horror movie came on and I was like, "Ooh, I've seen this trailer before! This movie looks really scary!"
So this preview starts with this girl, who looks to be thirteen or something, all dirty and with a bandage on her shoulder from playing soccer. She takes off her jersey and poses topless in front of this teenage boy with a camera and all these other guys were leering behind her, along with other girls watching. They were like in some sort of abandoned house or something and this girl pinned a flower in her hair while the guy took a video of her posing and saying, "I am Diana Villers" (haha, my subconscious decided to steal and misspell a name from Patrick O'Brian's books. Great).
