Jan. 12th, 2004 09:12 am
Two Nights of Bad Dreams
Not all bad, but, dang, there was a lot of them! Perhaps because I wasn't sleeping all that soundly. There's a door--in the apartment below me?--that started rattling sometime on Saturday, just as my bedroom door used to when I closed it and left the windows open. What I didn't realise then was how well the sound carried through the structure. So I was locked into that mental debate between knocking on doors trying to cut it off at its source and just getting over it, the end result being dealing with it, but very badly. Eventually, I dreamt of getting up and tracking it down, but I realised I wasn't really awake since my apartment looked all wrong and forced myself to wake up--which, of course, was just another part of the dream, something I realised when I really really woke up a little later.
I spent Sunday morning a little disoriented.
Last night went better. First of all, doing laundry and climbing stairs had left me truly tired. Second of all, I decide to Accept That Which I Am To Lazy To Change. I imagined myself a houseowner rather than a condodweller and whenever I heard a noise, I repeated to myself, "It's only the wind."--i.e, it's a natural event you can't change, not one of your fucktard neighbours carelessly inconveniencing you. You'd be amazed how much this changes my attitude toward things; external sounds (even boom cars and assholes honking instead of ringing doorbells) don't bother me half as much as one originating within the building, with one of my fellow tenants who should know better.
The door never ended up in my midnight movies, but it seems like everything else did. You know, I think I may dream of watching t.v. more than I actually watch it in waking life? Last night, I was watching a short regular cartoon show with the sensibility of a modern web comic. Three recurring characters were banging on about whatever have their dander up while riding around in a car. For one of them, this was the American adaption of a British comedy about two (teenage?) girls. There was a whole theme song, part of which went:
I spent Sunday morning a little disoriented.
Last night went better. First of all, doing laundry and climbing stairs had left me truly tired. Second of all, I decide to Accept That Which I Am To Lazy To Change. I imagined myself a houseowner rather than a condodweller and whenever I heard a noise, I repeated to myself, "It's only the wind."--i.e, it's a natural event you can't change, not one of your fucktard neighbours carelessly inconveniencing you. You'd be amazed how much this changes my attitude toward things; external sounds (even boom cars and assholes honking instead of ringing doorbells) don't bother me half as much as one originating within the building, with one of my fellow tenants who should know better.
The door never ended up in my midnight movies, but it seems like everything else did. You know, I think I may dream of watching t.v. more than I actually watch it in waking life? Last night, I was watching a short regular cartoon show with the sensibility of a modern web comic. Three recurring characters were banging on about whatever have their dander up while riding around in a car. For one of them, this was the American adaption of a British comedy about two (teenage?) girls. There was a whole theme song, part of which went:
Two lost girls in the throes of imagination(Beat on the bolded syllables, upstep on italicised bits. Yes, I know my quasimusical notation sucks. I only remember that much because I repeated it to myself over and over when I woke up.) Basically, he was complaining about how much they'd de-Britannicised it. After the scene ended, you heard a voice over:
Looks like they'll make it
Male voice 1: What's [show title]?Later on, a bunch of people were in a student lounge watching a crappy, squicky horror flick about a "deserted" island with prehistoric survivals. At first, it was implied from study of a bone sample that they were dinosaurs, but then there was a lurking caveman straight out of "Eegah!" (but hairier) who kidnaps the female researcher and she escapes by literally catapulting herself across the landscape and into a field of cacti. Where does all this stuff come from? Have I simply taken it so much stimulation in a lifetime that rearranging it in seemingly novel constellations is a trivial task for my mind--something that it can literally do in its sleep?
Male voice #2: It's this show from England.
Male voice #1: Maybe they could have subtitles or something.