The Glass Hooker

Whenever I take an extended break from blogging, which is all the time for the past year, I always feel as though I need to do some sort of Get Up To Speed dance when I re-emerge. Somehow fill in the narrative. Do some gymnastical apologetics, instead of just launching into what I have to say. It feels contrived, I don't like it, and, often, it keeps me from writing because the very idea of coming up with some sort of excuse/apology (you know, for ALL of my legions of readers. All 50 of you.) makes me slink away from the keyboard and toward less strenuous pursuits, like coming up with new iced tea concoctions for the Keurig machine in my office kitchen.

(Lemon Zinger and Green Tea is a favorite of mine at the moment. I have also figured out how to make something resembling a latte by boiling about a cup of milk and a packet of filched raw sugar (thank you Pret!) in the microwave for several minutes and dumping it on top of a portion of Dark Magic coffee brewed on 4. You're welcome.)

So, like, I'm not doing that this time mkay?

Mkay.

(Did I sort of just do it anyway? I'll leave that up to future generations.)

I've been having these very mundane dreams lately, which is rather a boon for me, as my usual speed is insomnia peppered with nightmares and periodic bouts of anxiety about stupid shit completely beyond my control, you know, for good measure. Because my brain problems are diverse like that.

But lately it's been whole dreams where I'm just going about my day, having conversations, buying groceries, reading things online and generally getting on with some pretty normal stuff. The only problem is, I'm beginning to get confused about what is happening in my really boring everyday life and my dream boring everyday life.

I mean, you fly in a dream or something, and it is pretty easy to say: that thing where I up and flew around that lake I used to visit in the Adirondacks - probably not real. But if you are dreaming that you are out of milk, when this is valid possibility, it gets tougher. And then you do something like buy milk and bring it home, and your husband is all, "Why did you buy milk, we have over half a gallon left?" and you play it off like, oh well, it's good to be prepared rather than run out, but really now you're realizing that you dreamed it.

Also everything that I just described was also a dream I think.

A dream within a dream you guys. It is like fucking Inception up in my braaaaaaains.

My mom says that she thinks dreams are bits of alternate universes leaking into this one, which is scary for me when my dreams are scary (because when is the last time YOU wanted to be stuck sick in the bed but the woman who was there to nurse you had all the skin melted off her face and would just sit silently on the floor next to the bed and stare at you?) but more just depressing right now because who wants to dream that they woke up early to workout but then couldn't find the workout cd so they went back to sleep? This is not the stuff that dreams are made of.

Clearly I need to dream bigger.  Like instead of being out of milk we are out of emus.

It was totally your turn to replace the emus you guys.  God.