talking to the wall
08.26.03 @ 5:39 p.m.
I had the best dream last night. First, I went to a big outdoor concert with Candace, despite the fact that I've never seen her nor seen a picture of her. Somehow, in my dream, she had long dark blond hair, which I know isn't the case. But then, when I dreamed about my friend Jessica I dreamed her with dark blonde hair even though I've seen pictures of her and she has quite dark hair. Anyway. Who Boy Nick was sitting in front of us (also with mysteriously lighter hair than he actually has... what is up with my brain?) and I pointed him out. We got up and left because somehow we were members of Pete Townshend's band (!!). I was the drummer, which is odd because I've never even sat behind a set of drums in my life. Candace had a guitar and Pete, who looked to be, oh, 25-30 years old, didn't seem to have one. If I remember, which I don't, not much. At this point it all goes kind of fuzzy. Pete said something to us, encouraging and positive because it made us happy and excited. Later in the dream a lot of stuff dealing with photographs happened. And that's all.
After work, which was tiring but somewhat satisfying (I trimmed the hell out of this one tree, it looks great now where it looked like a crazed, spider-filled bush before), Mom and I stopped at Fred Meyer to look at jeans on sale (I'm going to have to find a new preferred cut of jeans... mine are too hard to find) and I ended up getting a bunch of stuff from the deli. A quarter pound of jo-jos and six mozzerella sticks. I ate it all except half a mozzerella stick I gave to Mom and one I saved until I got home, I ate it all in the car. I was THAT HUNGRY. Not so much now, and I suspect that we're just having hamburgers tonight. Which is what we had last night. Who knows. I smell cooking ground beef.
Fucking computers. I was going to talk about the books I've been reading despite my not updating my book list, but the program I'm typing in keeps quitting. I have no idea what's wrong, but I should probably rebuild the desktop file. I think Dad screwed stuff up burning CDs. I gave him a long lecture this morning about how I'm not copying any more CDs for him because the sheer number of CDs he's copied this month has given me a severe case of morals. I don't like copying my albums for people that much, especially people I don't know. For friends, it's not such a big deal, especially if it's a swap of music (and it usually is.) But just casting albums into the void, that feels very, very wrong to me. I just don't like what he's doing. Also, I'm extremely pissed off that he keeps stealing my empty CD boxes and giving them away. They're MINE and he didn't even fucking ask. And he used up all my blanks. Now, he did buy a new spindle of CD-Rs for me, but still. Jerk.
(Title track from Tantamount to Treason by Michael Nesmith)
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
