So high

Well, to be fair, nowhere near as high as last time. Nonetheless, I derive such pleasure from being high that I do fear I may become a pothead. I have a strict policy of only abusing substances on the weekends, but here it is a Tuesday and I am pleasantly high. It would be so easy to make myself a batch of brownies and have one every evening when I get home from work or class. It wouldn't interfere with anything; I waste time all evening anyways. It would help me get to sleep, make things less cold, make my dinner taste better, make my music sound nicer. There's the inconvenience of it being illegal, but it isn't even expensive. $30 is enough for a batch of 32; at one a day that's less expensive than a subscription to World of Warcraft. We will see, but I think, thankfully, that restricted supply and paranoia will conspire to keep me relatively clean.

Even high it is so cold in here!

Mundanity constipation

This morning I had what may have been the worst dream ever. In retrospect, it appears to be a dream about schizophrenia, which makes it interesting.

I dreamed that I took a blow to the head that caused me to forget everything that happened afterwards at a specific point in time, essentially teleporting me into my own body at a future date. That date was the day of my wedding. I was marrying Marie. It was an unusual wedding; we both stood on a stage and had speakers come up to say nice things about us, including a quirky lesbian pal who shocked everyone with her raciness. I remember that after some time I recognized one of the servers shuttling food around; it was me from before I hit my head. We were friendly with one another and he congratulated me on my marriage, though he admitted to not really understanding it himself. At one point we took an intermission, so I went to look for a bathroom. The sign pointed up a very small tube that ended in a glass polyhedron with a small opening onto a parking lot. The opening was too small for me, and I broke the pane of glass. I panicked and collected all the shards, then broke into a nearby car and ran it into another car's taillight and scattered the glass all around to make it look like they had done it. I was moving the car to another part of the lot when I heard a narrator in my head saying that this seemingly harmless incident would lead to me hitting a pedestrian and skinning them alive to try to conceal the evidence. I was horrified, parked the car right where it was and ran back inside. I saw that everyone had left and knew I had been away too long and that they thought I had gotten cold feet. I became very depressed and took a hit of meth. I ran around the giant mall that is the setting for many of my dreams until I took an elevator to a secret floor where a narrow passage led to a room where stoned people were packed on the floor watching a grainy original cut of Star Wars that flickered on the wall. They were very angry at all the noise I was making, so I left. It was around this time that I knew Marie must have found out that I'd done meth and would never take me back. I spent the brief remainder of the dream running through the mall in a daze looking for her and knowing that I would never find her.

Now let me tell you why it was the worst dream ever. It was semi-lucid; I knew I was dreaming. Standing up on the stage with me, Marie was so beautiful in her dress, and I could see in her look that we were genuinely in love. I didn't know what had happened between the time I hit my head and the wedding, but all the doubt and insecurity were gone. I knew it was a dream. I was hurt by the love that I knew was a sick fantasy and I was disgusted with myself for having such a pathetic dream, and despite that I didn't want to wake up. The morning was unreal. When I put too much weight on the soap holder in the shower and pulled it off the wall, I was so reminded of breaking that window that I nearly vomited. I still need to put in a maintenance request for that.

In lighter news, I recently acquired the soundtrack to the film Everything is Illuminated, which contains what is undoubtedly my favorite music. There is a song in it called Prologue/Babushka. If I had to choose one song to represent me, as if it were a family crest or my Facebook page, that would be the song. My only reservation is that it is so beautiful I don't feel I deserve it.

Jesus, I'm being creepy today. What do normal people talk about? I just ate an orange? I'm sweaty from walking? What a load of bullshit.