The Buffalo Sabres opened their NHL playoff run last night with a decisive 4-1 win over the New York Islanders. The game wasn't even that close. It should have been 6- or 7-1. The Sabres just looked that freaking good. This is the year, baby. This is finally the year.
Two things you should know about my role in their potential championship journey: 1) I am not shaving for the duration of the playoffs, and 2) I am wearing my Sabres t-shirt non-stop (except for showering, of course) until it's all over. Just FYI.
And if they don't win it all this year, I will kill myself. Again, FYI.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
And Now for Something Completely Disgusting
Here's a fun story that just screams "blog me!"
I was at Megan's for a good portion of yesterday. And by a good portion of I mean all of. If there's one thing that happens while I'm over there for an extended period of time, it's that I eat. I eat a lot. She cooks meals. She makes sandwiches. She gives me ice cream. Yesterday, we even baked brownies. That was a new one. But anyway, long story short, we eat a lot of food. We also gossip and watch TV. And paint each other's toenails. Maybe not that last one. At least not yet.
Anyway, I had a little bit of a headache early yesterday afternoon, but I didn't think too much of it. I've had a little bit of a headache every day for the past five days or so. No biggie. I get a lot of headaches. Usually they go away after I take a couple aspirin, or get some food in my stomach, or take a little nap. I took a couple of Advil when we got back from grocery shopping yesterday afternoon, and I felt a little bit better. That didn't last too long, though, so I took a nap on the couch. I woke up in time for dinner, and I felt a little bit better again, so I ate a good healthy portion of chicken, broccoli, and potatoes. Then it was back to the couch for some more TV, but the headache came back. With a vengeance. And this time nausea came with it.
I mentioned that I ate chicken, broccoli, and potatoes for dinner. I didn't mention that, over the rest of the day at her place, I ate the following: an egg salad sandwich, some Doritos, a couple brownies, and a bowl of cookies-and-cream ice cream. There are probably even other things I am forgetting. Tack on a can of Diet Pepsi, a couple of juice boxes, and a cup of tea, and I was one full little boy.
The little headache had turned into a full-blown migraine by about 8:00 PM, and resting was not doing me much good. I realized I should probably go home and be miserable there by myself, instead of continuing to lay on the couch and be a bad houseguest, but I wasn't looking forward to the getting up and driving home part. So I laid on the couch until almost 9:00, when I finally conceded and decided to hit the road.
Now, here comes the good part.
I got into the car and started driving home. It is not a long drive from Meg's apartment to mine: three minutes, tops. I was only to the end of her street, though, when I realized I was going to puke. I was going to puke a lot. Now, I've puked a lot in my life. Probably more than all of you combined. The physical act of puking doesn't even bother me any more. Puke itself is gross, yes, but as long as it is in the toilet bowl or on the side of the road or something, I don't care about it. Since I've puked so much in my life, I've developed a pretty good sense of how long I have before I can't hold it in anymore. Normally, if I'm in the car and I have to puke, I'll pull over and just let fly in a ditch or something. I was in the middle of the city of Cortland, though, and I didn't think that would be appropriate. I decided that I could handle it until I got home like two minutes later.
No such luck.
Coming down Court Street, I gagged and some vomit escaped my esophagus into my mouth. I put my hand over my mouth, choked the puke back, and hoped that was the end of it. Was I ever wrong. Two seconds later, that little bit of puke made a comeback and brought a ton of its friends with it. BLAHHHH!!! Thankfully, I had kept my hand over my mouth and that blocked a lot of the grossness from getting too far. A lot did escape, though, all down the front of my jacket, inside my jacket and down my sweatshirt, and all over my pants. The steering wheel gleamed in the streetlights, vomit streams running down it. I looked over to the console and saw that some had deflected over there, infilitrating the shifter and the cupholders.
I kept my hand over the mouth for the remainder of the trip home and imagined the horror on the face of the driver next to me at the stoplight, if he had happened to look over and catch a glimpse of my vomit-soaked face and body. When I got home a couple minutes later, I immediately stripped my coat off and threw it on the ground outside my house. I ran inside, puked out anything that might have been remaining inside me, washed my hands and my face, and called Megan. I needed someone to come clean out my car. I obviously was in no condition.
She refused. Puke, apparently, is not her "thing." Thanks.
So it was up to me. I stripped out of my puke-covered clothing and took a quick shower. Needless to say, it was much needed. Putting on clean, vomit-free clothing, I searched in vain for appropriate cleaning supplies. At Carrie's suggestion, I used glass cleaner. I sprayed the steering wheel, the console, and the seat. Yes, much to my chagrin, I discovered a couple puddles of puke on the driver's seat. Spray spray spray, wipe wipe wipe, and the puke was gone.
I went out to the car this morning to get some books. The scent of vomit is faint, but it definitely is there. The windows are cracked open today, and hopefully the crisp April air will remove the odor. What an ordeal.
This is possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And this from the guy who once got trampled by a bull. But that's another story for another day.
I was at Megan's for a good portion of yesterday. And by a good portion of I mean all of. If there's one thing that happens while I'm over there for an extended period of time, it's that I eat. I eat a lot. She cooks meals. She makes sandwiches. She gives me ice cream. Yesterday, we even baked brownies. That was a new one. But anyway, long story short, we eat a lot of food. We also gossip and watch TV. And paint each other's toenails. Maybe not that last one. At least not yet.
Anyway, I had a little bit of a headache early yesterday afternoon, but I didn't think too much of it. I've had a little bit of a headache every day for the past five days or so. No biggie. I get a lot of headaches. Usually they go away after I take a couple aspirin, or get some food in my stomach, or take a little nap. I took a couple of Advil when we got back from grocery shopping yesterday afternoon, and I felt a little bit better. That didn't last too long, though, so I took a nap on the couch. I woke up in time for dinner, and I felt a little bit better again, so I ate a good healthy portion of chicken, broccoli, and potatoes. Then it was back to the couch for some more TV, but the headache came back. With a vengeance. And this time nausea came with it.
I mentioned that I ate chicken, broccoli, and potatoes for dinner. I didn't mention that, over the rest of the day at her place, I ate the following: an egg salad sandwich, some Doritos, a couple brownies, and a bowl of cookies-and-cream ice cream. There are probably even other things I am forgetting. Tack on a can of Diet Pepsi, a couple of juice boxes, and a cup of tea, and I was one full little boy.
The little headache had turned into a full-blown migraine by about 8:00 PM, and resting was not doing me much good. I realized I should probably go home and be miserable there by myself, instead of continuing to lay on the couch and be a bad houseguest, but I wasn't looking forward to the getting up and driving home part. So I laid on the couch until almost 9:00, when I finally conceded and decided to hit the road.
Now, here comes the good part.
I got into the car and started driving home. It is not a long drive from Meg's apartment to mine: three minutes, tops. I was only to the end of her street, though, when I realized I was going to puke. I was going to puke a lot. Now, I've puked a lot in my life. Probably more than all of you combined. The physical act of puking doesn't even bother me any more. Puke itself is gross, yes, but as long as it is in the toilet bowl or on the side of the road or something, I don't care about it. Since I've puked so much in my life, I've developed a pretty good sense of how long I have before I can't hold it in anymore. Normally, if I'm in the car and I have to puke, I'll pull over and just let fly in a ditch or something. I was in the middle of the city of Cortland, though, and I didn't think that would be appropriate. I decided that I could handle it until I got home like two minutes later.
No such luck.
Coming down Court Street, I gagged and some vomit escaped my esophagus into my mouth. I put my hand over my mouth, choked the puke back, and hoped that was the end of it. Was I ever wrong. Two seconds later, that little bit of puke made a comeback and brought a ton of its friends with it. BLAHHHH!!! Thankfully, I had kept my hand over my mouth and that blocked a lot of the grossness from getting too far. A lot did escape, though, all down the front of my jacket, inside my jacket and down my sweatshirt, and all over my pants. The steering wheel gleamed in the streetlights, vomit streams running down it. I looked over to the console and saw that some had deflected over there, infilitrating the shifter and the cupholders.
I kept my hand over the mouth for the remainder of the trip home and imagined the horror on the face of the driver next to me at the stoplight, if he had happened to look over and catch a glimpse of my vomit-soaked face and body. When I got home a couple minutes later, I immediately stripped my coat off and threw it on the ground outside my house. I ran inside, puked out anything that might have been remaining inside me, washed my hands and my face, and called Megan. I needed someone to come clean out my car. I obviously was in no condition.
She refused. Puke, apparently, is not her "thing." Thanks.
So it was up to me. I stripped out of my puke-covered clothing and took a quick shower. Needless to say, it was much needed. Putting on clean, vomit-free clothing, I searched in vain for appropriate cleaning supplies. At Carrie's suggestion, I used glass cleaner. I sprayed the steering wheel, the console, and the seat. Yes, much to my chagrin, I discovered a couple puddles of puke on the driver's seat. Spray spray spray, wipe wipe wipe, and the puke was gone.
I went out to the car this morning to get some books. The scent of vomit is faint, but it definitely is there. The windows are cracked open today, and hopefully the crisp April air will remove the odor. What an ordeal.
This is possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And this from the guy who once got trampled by a bull. But that's another story for another day.
Monday, April 2, 2007
*exasperated sigh*
Do some people just have no regard for the people around them? Let's compare me to this girl who is sitting at the other end of my row in the computer lab, shall we?
Me: I received a phone call earlier in the day. There were not a lot of people in the computer lab at the time, but I still think it is very rude to carry on a telephone conversation while people around me are trying to work. I'll even take this to "while people are around me at all"--if I'm visiting someone and my phone rings, I will take it into another room to answer, if I even deem it is necessary to answer at all. It's just common courtesy, right?
So I took my phone outside and stood out on the sidewalk for the duration of my approximately six-minute conversation. I then came back in, sat back at my computer again, and continued my work. No one even had to know I was on the phone.
Girl over there -->: For the past twenty minutes, I've had to listen to this girl, at full volume, call various body-piercing shops in an attempt to set up an appointment to get her belly button pierced. Are you serious? Do I really need to hear about this? Is this any of my business, let alone any of the business of the other half-dozen people in the lab? Come on, please. Honestly. Take it outside. Or do it when you're at home. Or, even better, don't get your stupid belly button pierced, you stupid!
OK, I feel a little bit better now. Thanks, blog. You're a good pal.
Me: I received a phone call earlier in the day. There were not a lot of people in the computer lab at the time, but I still think it is very rude to carry on a telephone conversation while people around me are trying to work. I'll even take this to "while people are around me at all"--if I'm visiting someone and my phone rings, I will take it into another room to answer, if I even deem it is necessary to answer at all. It's just common courtesy, right?
So I took my phone outside and stood out on the sidewalk for the duration of my approximately six-minute conversation. I then came back in, sat back at my computer again, and continued my work. No one even had to know I was on the phone.
Girl over there -->: For the past twenty minutes, I've had to listen to this girl, at full volume, call various body-piercing shops in an attempt to set up an appointment to get her belly button pierced. Are you serious? Do I really need to hear about this? Is this any of my business, let alone any of the business of the other half-dozen people in the lab? Come on, please. Honestly. Take it outside. Or do it when you're at home. Or, even better, don't get your stupid belly button pierced, you stupid!
OK, I feel a little bit better now. Thanks, blog. You're a good pal.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
A Couple Days in the Life
At a lack of anything to rant about from the past week or so, believe it or not, I'll just talk about some interesting things which have occurred to me within the last couple days. I will relate them in chronological order, not necessarily in order of interest.
1.) I went on a little trip with Megan on Thursday. As part of the adventure, we went to PetSmart and a puppy licked my face. I don't know what you think about this, but that's about the most disgusting thing possible. To quote Brian from Family Guy, dogs use their tongues as toilet paper. This little Scottish Terrier had probably taken a crap and "wiped" within the last half hour or something, and now it was rubbing that dirty tongue all over my nose and mouth. That is just gross, people. Gross. Pets are disgusting, and I don't understand why anyone would want one. Not only are they filthy creatures, but they are an unnecessary nuisance in the home. I'm sorry, but I have a hard enough time feeding and taking care of myself. Why would I want an annoying little animal running around, needing me to wait on it hand and foot? No thanks, lower forms of life. Find some other sucker.
2.) After we came home, I had to run up to campus and take care of a couple things. One of my pressing issues was a parking ticket which I had received the day before. I have been parking in the faculty/staff lot outside Old Main a lot this semester and had not received a ticket. But I got cocky on Wednesday and left my car parked there for like five hours. Bad idea. Anyway, I had to go down to UPD in Van Housen to pay the ticket--or so I thought. I pulled into a parking spot near the entrance and ran in to make the payment. At the parking department, though, I discovered a sign informing me I have to go to the Miller Building to pay parking tickets. Crummy. So I left again. I ran into Ray and offered to give him a ride up the hill so he wouldn't have to walk. I'm a nice guy. As we were going up the hill, though, I noticed a little piece of paper under my windshield wiper. I had another ticket! Five minutes (at most), and I'd received another ticket! Enraged, I stormed into Miller and demanded rectification.
The friendly woman at Miller told me she couldn't do anything about it, but she suggested I go down to UPD again and plead my case. Off I went. On the way back down there, though, I happened to see some douche police officer citing someone else for a parking violation. This must have been the same guy who gave me mine, so I stopped my car and rolled down the window. The very awkward conversation went a little something like this.
Me: "Hey! (holding out ticket) Are you the guy who just gave me this?"
Mr. Policeman: "Umm... yes."
Me: "Yeah, here's the deal. I had only parked there just now to pay this ticket (holding out other, legitimate ticket), because I haven't had a ticket in several years, and that's where you used to have to go to pay tickets..."
Mr. Policeman: "No, you're always had to go to Miller."
Me: "Really? Well, in any event, I was only parked for like five minutes as I ran into pay the ticket."
Mr. Policeman: "You were parked down there? (pointing toward UPD) But Miller is way up there. (pointing back toward Miller)"
Me: "Yes, yes, I know... maybe I'm not explaining myself well. Anyway, I really don't feel like I should have gotten this ticket."
Mr. Policeman: "Give it to me, I'll take care of it."
Me: "Thank you very much. (handing him the ticket) You know I wouldn't complain unless I felt, like, you know... (rolling up window, driving away)"
Awkward conversation, and I didn't know how to end it, but I saved twenty bucks. Sweet.
3.) I went out Thursday night with Ray and had a lot to drink. Like, a lot a lot. The highlight of the evening, though, came when we went down to Mobil ExpressMart to get some single drinks early in the night. Ray bought two "40's" of something called "Old English." I was not interested. Instead, I stuck with what I know: I purchased a nice, crisp, refreshing 24oz bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
Clerk: "Would you like a bag for this, or are you just going to put it in your purse?"
I'm not going to lie; that was a wicked burn. Well played, Mr. ExpressMart Clerk. Well played.
4.) 7:00 Friday morning came way too early, considering I had gotten mad drunk and didn't go to bed until 3:00. I really didn't want to go to classroom observation, but given that there are only four weeks left to get hours and I still need 25, I can't skip too many days. I was miserable; I wished I were dead. I threw up between periods, and again in the parking lot before I left to come home. I'm such a lightweght; it's very sad. I went to bed when I came home and slept until about 3:00 in the afternoon. That was nice.
So, in a nutshell, those were my past two days. Don't you wish you had my life? I guess I'm going to go take a shower and see what adventures I can have today. Probably none. We'll see.
1.) I went on a little trip with Megan on Thursday. As part of the adventure, we went to PetSmart and a puppy licked my face. I don't know what you think about this, but that's about the most disgusting thing possible. To quote Brian from Family Guy, dogs use their tongues as toilet paper. This little Scottish Terrier had probably taken a crap and "wiped" within the last half hour or something, and now it was rubbing that dirty tongue all over my nose and mouth. That is just gross, people. Gross. Pets are disgusting, and I don't understand why anyone would want one. Not only are they filthy creatures, but they are an unnecessary nuisance in the home. I'm sorry, but I have a hard enough time feeding and taking care of myself. Why would I want an annoying little animal running around, needing me to wait on it hand and foot? No thanks, lower forms of life. Find some other sucker.
2.) After we came home, I had to run up to campus and take care of a couple things. One of my pressing issues was a parking ticket which I had received the day before. I have been parking in the faculty/staff lot outside Old Main a lot this semester and had not received a ticket. But I got cocky on Wednesday and left my car parked there for like five hours. Bad idea. Anyway, I had to go down to UPD in Van Housen to pay the ticket--or so I thought. I pulled into a parking spot near the entrance and ran in to make the payment. At the parking department, though, I discovered a sign informing me I have to go to the Miller Building to pay parking tickets. Crummy. So I left again. I ran into Ray and offered to give him a ride up the hill so he wouldn't have to walk. I'm a nice guy. As we were going up the hill, though, I noticed a little piece of paper under my windshield wiper. I had another ticket! Five minutes (at most), and I'd received another ticket! Enraged, I stormed into Miller and demanded rectification.
The friendly woman at Miller told me she couldn't do anything about it, but she suggested I go down to UPD again and plead my case. Off I went. On the way back down there, though, I happened to see some douche police officer citing someone else for a parking violation. This must have been the same guy who gave me mine, so I stopped my car and rolled down the window. The very awkward conversation went a little something like this.
Me: "Hey! (holding out ticket) Are you the guy who just gave me this?"
Mr. Policeman: "Umm... yes."
Me: "Yeah, here's the deal. I had only parked there just now to pay this ticket (holding out other, legitimate ticket), because I haven't had a ticket in several years, and that's where you used to have to go to pay tickets..."
Mr. Policeman: "No, you're always had to go to Miller."
Me: "Really? Well, in any event, I was only parked for like five minutes as I ran into pay the ticket."
Mr. Policeman: "You were parked down there? (pointing toward UPD) But Miller is way up there. (pointing back toward Miller)"
Me: "Yes, yes, I know... maybe I'm not explaining myself well. Anyway, I really don't feel like I should have gotten this ticket."
Mr. Policeman: "Give it to me, I'll take care of it."
Me: "Thank you very much. (handing him the ticket) You know I wouldn't complain unless I felt, like, you know... (rolling up window, driving away)"
Awkward conversation, and I didn't know how to end it, but I saved twenty bucks. Sweet.
3.) I went out Thursday night with Ray and had a lot to drink. Like, a lot a lot. The highlight of the evening, though, came when we went down to Mobil ExpressMart to get some single drinks early in the night. Ray bought two "40's" of something called "Old English." I was not interested. Instead, I stuck with what I know: I purchased a nice, crisp, refreshing 24oz bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
Clerk: "Would you like a bag for this, or are you just going to put it in your purse?"
I'm not going to lie; that was a wicked burn. Well played, Mr. ExpressMart Clerk. Well played.
4.) 7:00 Friday morning came way too early, considering I had gotten mad drunk and didn't go to bed until 3:00. I really didn't want to go to classroom observation, but given that there are only four weeks left to get hours and I still need 25, I can't skip too many days. I was miserable; I wished I were dead. I threw up between periods, and again in the parking lot before I left to come home. I'm such a lightweght; it's very sad. I went to bed when I came home and slept until about 3:00 in the afternoon. That was nice.
So, in a nutshell, those were my past two days. Don't you wish you had my life? I guess I'm going to go take a shower and see what adventures I can have today. Probably none. We'll see.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Cheap, Cheap, Cheap
Here's another fun fact about me: I am possibly the cheapest person you will ever meet.
-I would rather not eat than go to the store to get food. When I *do* go to the store, I always buy the cheapest brand possible and eat it, regardless of how it tastes.
-I hate Christmas and birthdays. I have no desire to buy anything for anyone, and I hate when people buy things for me, because: 1) that makes me feel obligated to buy something for him/her next time, and 2) I also feel like other people should be cheap, and any money you've spent buying things for me would have been much better spent buying something for yourself. This is also referred to as "selfishness."
-I continue to work four hours a month at the gas station, which I hate, because it earns me 10% off gas at any Kwikfill station. I almost had to cause a scene at Kwikfill in Groton one day last week, because I had no proof of Kwikfill employment on me and the cashier was hesitant to give me my discount. I wanted that $3.50 off, and I wasn't about to leave until I got it! I got it.
There are more examples of my frugality, I'm sure, but these are the main ones in my head right now. And now I've made my first post in a week--good for me.
-I would rather not eat than go to the store to get food. When I *do* go to the store, I always buy the cheapest brand possible and eat it, regardless of how it tastes.
-I hate Christmas and birthdays. I have no desire to buy anything for anyone, and I hate when people buy things for me, because: 1) that makes me feel obligated to buy something for him/her next time, and 2) I also feel like other people should be cheap, and any money you've spent buying things for me would have been much better spent buying something for yourself. This is also referred to as "selfishness."
-I continue to work four hours a month at the gas station, which I hate, because it earns me 10% off gas at any Kwikfill station. I almost had to cause a scene at Kwikfill in Groton one day last week, because I had no proof of Kwikfill employment on me and the cashier was hesitant to give me my discount. I wanted that $3.50 off, and I wasn't about to leave until I got it! I got it.
There are more examples of my frugality, I'm sure, but these are the main ones in my head right now. And now I've made my first post in a week--good for me.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Posterized
I spent a large majority of last week working on an epic post. It's saved in a draft. Long story short, it's the story of what happened to me last fall, how it resulted in my having to move out of my apartment, and what I learned from the debacle. But I couldn't come to a conclusion on it, so the post remains unfinished. I was typing and typing and typing, but my heart wasn't in it. It was pointless. I just don't care any more. I'm so over it. w00t.
So anyway, moving on. Here's a random post.
I was at a Denny's in Hamburg, NY, last Saturday night (now there's an exotic Spring Break destination!) when I overheard this interaction between a customer and the waitress:
Customer: "Me and her are gonna split the Mexican Slam."
Waitress: "That's her and I, sweetie."
Nice try, stupid waitress, but you're wrong, too. It's SHE AND I! I nearly choked on my rage. Before that causes you to lose all faith in the grammaticality of America, though, consider what I heard on my way out of the Sabres' game at HSBC Arena earlier that same night:
Random drunk guy, yelling: "Hey! Where's the bars?!?"
Random douchebag, yelling: "You mean where are the bars!"
L-O-freaking-L. It almost made up for sitting through the Sabres losing yet another game. Almost.
So anyway, moving on. Here's a random post.
I was at a Denny's in Hamburg, NY, last Saturday night (now there's an exotic Spring Break destination!) when I overheard this interaction between a customer and the waitress:
Customer: "Me and her are gonna split the Mexican Slam."
Waitress: "That's her and I, sweetie."
Nice try, stupid waitress, but you're wrong, too. It's SHE AND I! I nearly choked on my rage. Before that causes you to lose all faith in the grammaticality of America, though, consider what I heard on my way out of the Sabres' game at HSBC Arena earlier that same night:
Random drunk guy, yelling: "Hey! Where's the bars?!?"
Random douchebag, yelling: "You mean where are the bars!"
L-O-freaking-L. It almost made up for sitting through the Sabres losing yet another game. Almost.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Sleep: Why I Love It
OK, time for the riveting Part Two of my two-part series on sleep. Last night I let you in on why I hate sleep. But, eventually, sleep must come. And with it comes one of the greatest wonders of the human mind: dreams.
Dreams are amazing. I love dreams. I don't really know how they work (it's probably not a movie theatre inside your head, like in Osmosis Jones), but I am very thankful they exist. They give me an escape from my real life for a few hours a night. They give me a place where I can explore the things that course through my mind daily, not only consciously, but subconsciously. They give me insight into my inner workings. I love waking up in the morning after I've had a particularly vivid dream and spending a few minutes trying to figure out what it meant. Sometimes, they lead me closer to answers I'm dying to find: what makes me tick? From where do my problems stem? How can I fix them? Dreams, the windows into the subconscious, can aid with that.
These peeks into the subconscious are all well and good, but do you know what I'm really fascinated by? Lucid dreams. If you're unfamiliar with the term, a lucid dream is a dream in which you are fully aware that you are sleeping, and therefore you can consciously act out whatever you want to do. These things are so cool. It's like, at a certain point in the dream, your brain kicks in and says "yeah, this isn't real. Go wild!" It's like a second life, an alternate universe, and you just stumble into it.
Unfortunately, I can't recall ever actually experiencing an actual fully lucid dream. They sell books on how to meditate yourself before going to sleep in order to enduce lucidity in dreams, and I'm sure there are plenty of how-tos about it on the internet. As awesome as I think lucid dreams would be, though, I don't know if I'd want to know how to do it. I'm afraid I would get so wrapped up in my virtual-reality pseudo-life that I would no longer have any desire to face my actual-reality life-life. I mean, why would I want to continue my day-to-day trudgery/misery when I know that, if I just dope myself up and sleep all day, I could remain in my fantasy world where I go anywhere I want, possess anything I want, party all the time, watch the Sabres win the Stanley Cup and the Browns win the Super Bowl, and (as if I even have to mention the obvious) have all the sex I want with whomever I want? Talk about dangerous, and you know I'd love every second of it.
So anyway, thanks for reading this two-part blog post concerning my issues with the act of sleep. Keep checking in, because you never know the next fascinating topic that's going to spring from these fingers, through this keyboard, onto this blog.
Dreams are amazing. I love dreams. I don't really know how they work (it's probably not a movie theatre inside your head, like in Osmosis Jones), but I am very thankful they exist. They give me an escape from my real life for a few hours a night. They give me a place where I can explore the things that course through my mind daily, not only consciously, but subconsciously. They give me insight into my inner workings. I love waking up in the morning after I've had a particularly vivid dream and spending a few minutes trying to figure out what it meant. Sometimes, they lead me closer to answers I'm dying to find: what makes me tick? From where do my problems stem? How can I fix them? Dreams, the windows into the subconscious, can aid with that.
These peeks into the subconscious are all well and good, but do you know what I'm really fascinated by? Lucid dreams. If you're unfamiliar with the term, a lucid dream is a dream in which you are fully aware that you are sleeping, and therefore you can consciously act out whatever you want to do. These things are so cool. It's like, at a certain point in the dream, your brain kicks in and says "yeah, this isn't real. Go wild!" It's like a second life, an alternate universe, and you just stumble into it.
Unfortunately, I can't recall ever actually experiencing an actual fully lucid dream. They sell books on how to meditate yourself before going to sleep in order to enduce lucidity in dreams, and I'm sure there are plenty of how-tos about it on the internet. As awesome as I think lucid dreams would be, though, I don't know if I'd want to know how to do it. I'm afraid I would get so wrapped up in my virtual-reality pseudo-life that I would no longer have any desire to face my actual-reality life-life. I mean, why would I want to continue my day-to-day trudgery/misery when I know that, if I just dope myself up and sleep all day, I could remain in my fantasy world where I go anywhere I want, possess anything I want, party all the time, watch the Sabres win the Stanley Cup and the Browns win the Super Bowl, and (as if I even have to mention the obvious) have all the sex I want with whomever I want? Talk about dangerous, and you know I'd love every second of it.
So anyway, thanks for reading this two-part blog post concerning my issues with the act of sleep. Keep checking in, because you never know the next fascinating topic that's going to spring from these fingers, through this keyboard, onto this blog.
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