I Dream in Facebook

It's true that I've been known to "think" in Facebook before.  Now I'm apparently dreaming in Facebook.  I woke up this morning only to realize that in my dreams last night I had taken a job at Facebook.  OK, I might also  be reading too many online Bachelor (on the wings of loooovvve..) forums lately but that's not the point.  As I spent my first week getting acclimated in my new job at FB, what I did I'm not entirely sure, I realized that all the people I worked with were people I had had 'friended'.  For reals, y'all.  This dream was a straight up social media nightmare.

Everywhere I turned in my office I saw someone's goofy profile picture.  Status quotes hung above their heads changing frequently as they posted yet again another mind-numbing stimulating thought about what they were doing with their day.  Do you know what it is like to work with someone you haven't seen since elementary school? This office was riddled with old conflicts, past jealousies and tired wounds.  Stressful didn't even begin to describe it. 

I think it is time I take a long, hard look at ol' FB.  I've been trying to declare it dead for weeks now anyway.  It's so 2009 after all.

Can You Feel That? It's the Awesomeness.

Scene: H and I are enjoying a moment of quiet. Also known as bedtime for the kiddies. We're discussing upcoming events in our lives, including Blogher.

H: You know, you should really post more about how awesome I am.

I raise an eyebrow.

H: I should also leave more comments because my awesomeness would totally radiate out from the computer.


On another note I had what can only be described as a pre-blogher anxiety dream.

I was traveling to Chicago from Virginia by train. How much would that sucketh? I missed my connecting train and the station, which at some point was floating on a sea of icebergs, lost my luggage. To top it all off some blogger I hate (who does not actually exists) was on my train with an ex-boyfriend of mine. I decided to be sweet and nice and chatted with them.

Five minutes into the conversation I find out they are getting married. As I'm about cough out a stunned "Congratulations!" (why on earth anyone would marry this guy is beyond me.) I realize that he is wearing a dress and ladies belted trench coat. And? The most hideous purple wedge heels ever known to man. I can't make this stuff up people. I blinked. Looked at this blogger and realized she totally knew she was marrying a man who dressed as a woman and thought, "Well, OK. Better her than me I suppose..." and moved on.

Later I find out that TD has been kidnapped and I am posting about it on Twitter for leads. Twitter totally helped me find my kidnapped kid.

I kid you not Internets. That was one twisted social media mess of a dream.

Overheards- The Gross Out Edition

H and I were having a bit of a chat last night and I asked him what some line was from the film 'In Bruges' that I thought was so funny. He recited it and I made the comment that, "Yeah, that one guy in it just never meets a good end in any movie he's in. I mean he falls from the tower and lands with a splat and then there's 'Gangs of New York' where he just gets brained in the barber shop with his own club. Sick!"

H: Thanks for all that nice mental imagery before I go to bed and head off to dreamland. Why don't you call me tomorrow at lunch time and tell me all about your first period. How's that?

Me: Oh. Sorry. Yeah, that type of stuff just doesn't bother me, does it? Yet, I was strangely disgusted by Krusty the Clown going into the wood chipper on The Simpson's today. Weird.

Harry Potter Thinks I Need to Clean My Tub

They say that with pregnancy comes cravings, the frequent need to pee and a host of other fun things that we have either forgotten about or never experienced. Do they ever mention the bizarre host of dreams though?

Since becoming 'with child' as H calls it I've -

Walked in on Harry Potter making acne medication/potions in my guest bathroom only to then hear him complain about the dirty state of my bathtub. My father then entered the room and said, "Eehh, it's not so bad. I've used it plenty. Relax, Harry!" Hmmph. Good enough for me and I told 'ol Potter there that if he didn't like the tub then he could just 'magic' it clean himself and left.

Had Michael Caine over for dinner. He wore a blue blazer, white shirt and a gold ascot. We had loads of fun and it was a fine evening had by all. I didn't even look at his teeth once!

Had numerous dreams about T.D. being kidnapped by anyone from some religeous sect (too much news watching that day) to little old ladies who look sweet but pack heat.

Most recently, there was the shark movie I was in. Uh, yeah. It was all Tron looking and at one point one of the actors, might have been Michael Caine, had his whole sharky face fall off and we just kept filming. I think that film might be up for an '08 Razzie award shortly.

Other than the T.D. nappin' nightmares there seems to be some sort of movie theme going on here. Maybe, I have been really needing a taste of Hollywood after all and it was a good thing E visited.

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Mayday! Mayday! Mom Down!

Sometimes I wish, secretly hope for and yes, beg for a Command Center of sorts that would monitor my home (only for purposes of good and well-being) from a remote location. They would be able to hear and see what is going on and see what a nightmare lunch time can be. Yeah, it's not always that cute when your child smears sour cream on EVERYTHING. Life with kids is not always one cute photo op after another.

Just when it looks like Mom is about to lose it a little alarm would go off in my house sending out a signal of distress to the Command Center. The Command Center would be on high alert on the days I'm alone for long hours with a million things to do. Like when my husband has decided to change plans or just not call to say he isn't bringing people by our house for a visit, people that I just spent the morning cleaning the house for. Maybe this Command Center could monitor my stress levels and BP. They could measure the octaves of my voice as it reaches levels it shouldn't when the second sandwich has now been thrown on the floor.

I can just see it now-

"Mayday! Mayday! The Mom is going down! I repeat the Mom is going down!"

"I see her! Roger that! She is at maximum stress levels. She is about to blow! We've got to get in there fast before she completely loses it and flips out on the whole house. Her shoulders are next to her ears! Quick! Her fists are clenched! I don't think she even knows about the dog peeing on the carpet downstairs!! This is a dire situation team, we've got to act fast! Go! Go! Go!"

Then there would be a polite knock at the door and an efficient team of helpers would quietly enter the house.

"Ma'am, we're here. It's OK. Just sit down on that love seat over there and we'll handle everything."

They would clean up the dog pee. In fact, they might even steam clean the whole den. The food and sour cream sandwich mess would be a distant memory as someone massaged my shoulders back into their rightful place and I was given a bouquet of fresh flowers for my dining room table to admire and all the sheets were changed in the bedrooms. A quick vacuum job and scrub of the toilets would be added as someone rubbed my feet and made me a nice mug of hot chocolate. After the team leaves I notice all the laundry is folded and put away. And it is clean! Dinner is prepped and ready to go.

"Looks like order has been restored to this house team! The mother's BP is down, her heart rate has decreased and she is actually smiling. It's time to pack it up and move it out."

As the team quietly dissipates and heads back to the Command Center, I would realize I feel normal again for the first time in days. Order has indeed been restored.

Then I realize I've burned the grilled cheese I'm making, the third sandwich of the day, and the dog and kid are wrestling over kibble that has spilled onto the floor and there are now blocks in the toilet. My day dream is effectively over.

Saturday Morning Wake Up Call

I had a dream last night. One of those dreams where I know I need to listen. Two old men sat at a picnic table by a lake. They were the gruff no nonsense types with the unmistakable air that only retired cops possess. There was nothing film noir about them or the situation. I got the feeling I needed to heed what they were saying though. Girlie needed to listen up as what they were telling me was incredibly important. One more thing. They were dead.

They told me that I knew what I had to do. I had to get closure. I needed to do that in two ways. One I needed to find out what happened. I know cryptic right? But I knew exactly what they were talking about. The second thing being that I had to write about it. I had to take the two books I had already started that are in a similar vein and combine them with the third that has yet to be written. This they told me was my story to tell. They chuckled and exchanged a familiar glance making me think they knew each other in life. The tougher looking one said, "Aren't you writers supposed to write about what you know anyway?" I quietly said, "Yes that sounds about right". I smiled up at them and asked if I could leave now. I was excused but I had to remember this. I had to remember what they told me when I woke up. There is a story in me and no matter what I think when I wake up I had to remember it and write it.

It's true. It's been there all this time and I've tried so hard to write it and at the same time to stamp it out. Write what you know right? Well, what if I write it and it hurts people I love to read these things? What if I write it and despite it being fictionalized it still rings true and causes problems? What if a lot of things. What if it's too scary and hard? Heh. That is about the gist of it.

I'm sure other writers have come across this problem. The story is there and all at once at the most inopportune times the words come tumbling out. The words are there in writers block and get tangled in your brain. They form a web holding you captive for far too long. You live inside your head a lot in those times which can be an alternately fascinating yet frightening place. You can taste and feel the words. Visualize them spilling forth and hitting the page. You know it's there. All you have to do is commit. Write it. You can only go on so many runs before you hit a wall and know it's time to sit and write that story that you are supposed to tell.

A little bloodbath with your coffee?

Since I can remember, as far back as the age of three or so, I have always had very vivid and extremely violent dreams. It seems to run in the family. You want to taste something? Go ahead. It can be done in my dreams. In my dreams colors are extreme, especially red and black. They are usually very prominent factors too. Long hallways, dark forests, vasts empty lands, old houses full of dampness, caverns, caves, and tight enclosures abound. I don't need to see a horror flick for that type of action. I see it nearly every night in my dreams.

Why do I get the insane priviledge of witnessing skin peeling off someone? Torture that is in the extreme and never to be believed? I wish I knew. I wish I knew where my mind gets these images as I hate horror movies and will not watch them. I often wish I could erase it all. I hate what I see. How closely it resembles some insane things that really happen and how little power I have in each one. I am a futile figure and it pisses me off. I can easily say maybe only twice have I conquered whatever menace I find in these apocalyptic sequences.

They say, dream experts and those who aren't, that if you can find your demon in your dreams, the one that plagues you so much, you must kill it. You must tell yourself before you head to dreamland that you will extract your own revenge. Then you will be done with it forever. I've had friends tell me they've done it themselves. Samurai style and all. It works they cry triumphantly!

Hmmph. That has not been the case for me. In fact, last night, when I did manage to kill that son of a bitch that is always taunting me, I only made it stronger in the end. I stabbed my nemesis with a steak knife, twisting and reinserting the knife, while watching his eyes go black. It didn't work. It was only temporary. Now I'm good and pissed and for the remainder of the day I'll be the happy recipient of flashbacks blood and gore style. Fangs gnashing, rivers of blood flowing, howling dogs ripping flesh, car crashes, robberies, fires of intense heat and destruction, and so much more. Yup, that was just last night for an hour or two.

I wish I had dreams of flying. Dreams where I'm stressed about an exam or that I can't find my car or clothes. I would like to experience that just once. These dreams of such intensity are exhausting. Quentin Tarantino has nothing on me.