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2004-06-28 @ 9:52 p.m.
why I'm afraid of floating decimal points

So how many of you out there never woke up until 1:40 p.m. or later? I mean besides teenagers on vacation from of hands? No one?


I think I broke my all time record today. Iíve always been pretty proud of the fact that Iím on disability and have always gotten up by 8:30 or 9 a.m. and had the day mapped out with appointments or activities, instead of sitting in front of the TV like a hunk of slightly animated cholesterol. But the last two days I have had some marathon sleep-a-thons. I have just started some new medication. Zyprexa, and I think its been zonking me out.

Its also been producing some really weird dreams, and most of them have been revolving around water and loss of control for some reason. This the second day in a row Iíve dreamed about being in ďAĒs office.

We were having group. I barely even remember him being there, but I do remember group getting out. We (group members) almost always congregate outside for a couple of minutes to determine if weíre going to meet at the nearby grocery store cafe for a bite to eat. It was raining out, so we were talking under an overhang. ďSĒ, our most outgoing female member, was doing most of the inviting. It seemed like this might have been our last group since we wanted to get as many together as possible. ďSĒ wanted to tempt us with a secret she had. It was something she had done with ďAĒ once. Naturally this all intrigued instantly. Like Ooohhh, what?

Now, remember this is in my dream...

She said we would have to come to the nearby cafe to hear the whole story, so everyone split off towards their cars. I was without a car for some reason and was going to go with ďSĒ. As soon as we got into the car I asked ďSí to spill the beans. She grinned mischievously and started to tell me how she had met ďAĒ back when he was a freewheeling bachelor. They had met at a party, and she told me how flirtatious he had been. I could see that.

And then just as ďSĒ was pulling out onto the street and getting to the juicy part, her foot jammed onto the gas, and her head slumped back and it appeared she was having some kind of seizure. Unfortunately we were headed directly into four lanes of oncoming traffic. I was yelling her name and she was unresponsive, and her car was just rolling through the traffic indiscriminately. Horns were blasting. People were trying to get out of the way, as I was trying to grab the wheel. Unfortunately I was seat belted in. Not sure why I didnít try to unhook my seat belt. It was pouring rain. Absolutely pouring. Couldnít see much of anything out of the windshield, except for blurs of oncoming cars and trucks.

End of dream.

Iíve actually had this car-running-out-of-control-but-not-hitting-anything dream, several times in the last couple of months. Usually either the brakes arenít working or the steering wheel snaps off in my hand. One dream even had me driving blind. The Helen Keller School of Driving. I guess if I were Siggy Sue Freud, I might say that it translates into me feeling like my life is out of control.

I again had the intense pain when I first woke up today. Could barely get out of bed. And to make matters even worse, I had extremely low blood sugar. Iím a borderline diabetic, and sleeping until 1:40 with no food consumption since 6 p.m. last night wasnít too swift. Thought I saw pink bunnies with conga drums along my path to the refrigerator. My head was pretty swimmy.

I wanted to do a blood sugar test, but I couldnít find my blood testing kit and figured getting food into my pie hole was just slightly more important. Ate some cottage cheese. Nope, no difference. Gnawed on some ham from last night. It was coated with brown sugar which helped slightly. I usually have orange juice on hand, but I had just thrown some away, because of an expiration date of June 16th. Made oatnut toast with strawberry jam, and finally started to feel less like Lestat just before a tasty neck.

Finally with a little food in me, I also made some eggs and felt somewhat human. Time to turn on a soap opera.

Sheridan: Oh, you mustnít tell your wife.

Chad: But I must...

Sheridan: (dramatically) But you mustnít! Sheíll stab me with one of her finely sharpened garden trowels, Married Guy. You know she will.

Chad: But I must! (pregnant pause) But I really think we should make love one last time BEFORE I TELL HER....

And then Married GuyChad and Wittykitty Sheridan embrace and make passionate love on the floor of the country manor, as the sun slants in on the Shabby Chic coverlet in the foreground..picked out by wifie.

Fuck, now Iíve eaten too much sugar, if soap operas are talking directly to me and my subconscious.

I returned some bottles today. Yes, it was so worth coming up with a damn reason to actually get out of the house today. Sixty cents worth of recycling. Yay! Just enough for a package of M&Mís with 10 cents left over. Woo hoo! High finances here. I do need the money though.

I had gone to my ATM machine on Saturday to get $20 to cover me this week. Can most of you be covered with $20 for an entire week? I can. So I put my card in the ATM machine, did my secret code and the machine gave me some bad news. Insufficient funds...for $20. Fuck=a=doodles! $20? I know I have more than $20 in there. Tried it 2-3 times, but there was an ever growing line of people waiting behind me, so I finally gave up and went over to the grocery store and cashed a $15 check.

I do have a dark, dirty secret however. I donít do my checkbook. Havenít done it in probably 8 months. I just keep a vague total in my brain. I have a psychological thing against it. Iím terrible at math (Iím an art brain). Both of my parents used to sit me down each month and force me to do it ďtheir wayĒ, which I never understood, and I would resist and then they would yell at me, and then they would get frustrated and just do the checkbook for me. My secret plan anyways. Well, now my Dad is gone, so he canít help. My mom would help me if I wanted. I just keep forgetting to ask her, and now its been about 8 months since I last balanced my checkbook.

I suffer from mental illness, ya see and something has to fall by the wayside, and in my case, its just been my checkbook. So I donít know if Iím really down to less than $20 or whether the ATM machine was just being a bitch, or what? And I only have about 75 cents until next Friday.

Yay, me!

So I wonder what Iíll dream about tonight? Floating decimal points? Ya just never know.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty