Helloooo (echo)

Why yes, it has been a long time since I've updated this, thanks for noticing. So I will remedy that now (I will try to keep this updated, promise). I will begin with tales from last night.


Over the years of having a fucked-up subconscious that produces horrifyingly realistic dreams, I’ve learned that upon waking, a startled, sleep-addled brain can lead one to do a multiple of odd things (hauling ass across the room to sit in the closet and hide before I regained my wits being an example of this). Having sleeping pills that keep my brain fuzzy and half-dead for a good chunk of time after waking exacerbates this issue. Last night was another prime example.

Before waking, I was trapped in a dream where I was stranded in my home (which had grown the size of a mansion, apparently) in an alternative universe, where crazy people splattered with blood tried to chase me around, into areas of the house that had fireballs floating about them. I assume these were evil death-by-fire chambers. Also, I was inexplicably without my pants, wearing only a shirt and underpants, as one does while trapped in an alternative universe, apparently.

As I was racing about trying to escape, I was rudely jerked out of sleep, I assume by one of the exploding firecrackers that have been going off ALL NIGHT OMFG. I jerked up in bed, face covered in drool, and still trapped in a dream state. My brain went, “evil people chasing! Flee!” and then “OMG HUNGRY.” My brain assessed the situation and came back with the solution of, “you in danger, bitch. Haul your ass out to get sustenance, then hurry the fuck back” (my brain has terrible language). So putting aside my previous fight-or-flight instinct of “get the hell out of here”, I scurried into the kitchen to procure vittles, while still encompassed in an adrenaline-fueled sleep haze. Seeing as how I was absolutely starving for some reason, I grabbed whatever my grubby little paws touched, and hauled ass back to the perceived safety of my locked bedroom.

As I sat on my bed munching away at my pilfered bounty, with the DVD I had fallen asleep to quietly replaying in the background, I assessed what I had grabbed to apparently refuel for my daring escape of the alternative universe. Already my brain was starting to come back to earth, and I had the wherewithal to be amused by my quickly-grabbed treasure: a plastic picnic cup I had dumped some tortilla chips into, the homemade spinach dip I had made earlier the previous day, and a sourdough bread round to scoop the dip up with. The entire bread round; I hadn’t taken the time to slice it or anything (what part of “being chased by blood-thirsty crazies while in my underpants” are you not grasping? Time is of the essence). Now that my brain was fully awake and aware and my gnawing hunger was satisfied, I stashed the evidence of my late night snack on my bedside table, and passed out asleep again. I woke later to an unhappy, churning stomach and a mouth that tasted of onions and death.

Having a fucked-up-dream-producing subconscious and sleeping pills that leave me slow to return to full consciousness never fails to be entertaining.