it be creepin'
Feb. 13th, 2002 04:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wickedfleaI've gotten a lot done at work today, but it seems like the clock is moving about half as fast as it should.
I wake up from crazy dreams every night about 4:30 needing to pee. I get up, take a leak, and go back to bed, only to lie in bed for the next couple of hours only about 60% asleep. Last night, however, I didn't get up; I held it in. Strangely enough, I was able to get back to sleep and have even more fucked-up dreams. Weird. There's a lesson in this, boys and girls, but I'll be dipped in shit if I know what it is.
I'd tell you about my dreams -- I really would -- but I can never make enough sense of them to put them in a comprehensible form. I mean, I suppose I could tell you that last night I dreamed that Bill Cosby was my eight-foot-tall father and I saw him murder my mother, Phylicia Rashad, but there's no way that you could know the horror I felt when he chased me into downtown Starkville and I ducked into a gift shop only to be thwarted by the pulsating throng of people as I tried to flag down a security guard to save me from the bloodthirsty fucker.
Really, though -- I'm never able to document my dreams. Sometimes I'll wake up from a crazy dream and try to remember exactly what happened, but usually I'm still in that half-asleep mode and I end up changing it all around.
I need one o' them dream-recordin' devices.
I wake up from crazy dreams every night about 4:30 needing to pee. I get up, take a leak, and go back to bed, only to lie in bed for the next couple of hours only about 60% asleep. Last night, however, I didn't get up; I held it in. Strangely enough, I was able to get back to sleep and have even more fucked-up dreams. Weird. There's a lesson in this, boys and girls, but I'll be dipped in shit if I know what it is.
I'd tell you about my dreams -- I really would -- but I can never make enough sense of them to put them in a comprehensible form. I mean, I suppose I could tell you that last night I dreamed that Bill Cosby was my eight-foot-tall father and I saw him murder my mother, Phylicia Rashad, but there's no way that you could know the horror I felt when he chased me into downtown Starkville and I ducked into a gift shop only to be thwarted by the pulsating throng of people as I tried to flag down a security guard to save me from the bloodthirsty fucker.
Really, though -- I'm never able to document my dreams. Sometimes I'll wake up from a crazy dream and try to remember exactly what happened, but usually I'm still in that half-asleep mode and I end up changing it all around.
I need one o' them dream-recordin' devices.
