Jan 31, 2005

I've got to stop

drinking motoroil and vitriol before bedtime, it's starting to have a toll on my mental health.

I have had such a trove (I refuse to call it 'treasure' because I don't) of nightmares the previous nights. Last night's crop involved watching my cat get engulfed by a giant fireball caused by a lightning strike and miraculously not get hurt (this is not the bad part, that's still repressed,) watching my shed catch on fire and not be able to put it out because the garden hose was all kinked up, and taking Carroll Shelby for a ride on a BMW motorcycle so I could bring him to McDonald's to have lunch.

That part wasn't the nightmare part, it was just one of the really freaky parts--I woke up around midnight thirty wondering exactly why I was riding one of the all-time automotive greats on a motorcycle, how I had come about to own a BMW touring bike, and why exactly I would take a very old man with a huge amount of money to a freaking House of Cholesterol. Why didn't we take his car? Why didn't he treat ME somewhere nice? Why was I traveling around with a very old man in a cowboy hat?

And why did that bolt of lightning look like a twenty-foot thick splooge of cake frosting, and why didn't it burn my retinas out when I watched it?

Brain says strange things now.

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