Yesterday, I had one of those very realistic dreams. One of those in technicolour, including noises, smells and cortisol dripping from my hair. I travelled to my friend Kristina to somewhere in Northern Japan. Said friend lives in Paris... just sayin'. Well, I had a paper with an exact itinerary so that I wouldn't have to interact with the natives. I ended up in Podunk where I was aiming but my cellphone finally fell apart and I couldn't text Kristina to come and pick me up. I sat on a railing pondering what to do, with a huge dilapidated football stadium towering behind me, and apparently I picked a spot where local youngsters liked to hang around. Well, there was no help but to interact, one nice girl lend me her celly so that I could call Kristina who brought me to her place. She needed to work the next day so she sent me to the wilderness of the downtown to buy a new celly.
From all that stranger-induced stress, I fainted and smashed my head on the edge of the curb, resulting in some neat stitching at the back of my head.
What is my subconscious telling me, damn fucking hell? I've long ago noticed that I'm a sociophobic chickenshit who tends to freak out in places that speak unknown languages. I know that my cellphone is old. I've noticed the news. Why can't I dream of something more entertaining? Or shall I finally go into screenwriting and make this into a Lychesque flick?
Speaking of Japan, we a bunch of Ravellers are organizing a charity auction (me being a really small part of that we). And maybe I should start buying more Noro yarns to help the economy to recover. Or I should finally kick my lazy ass to learn Japanese as I had already planned. (If nothing else, I could have escaped the Oooooh, panic in the news. Yeah, native idjits already plundered pharmacies of potassium iodide, because there's the radioactive end of the world coming. Apparently I have a good reason to hate people, at least sometimes.]
I still have no social life.
My workplace was moved to an office next door. Too much light there, the other inhabitant loves blazing lights, my dark den was much comfier. At least I put up a demotivational poster with a Land Rover covered by shrubbery and drowning in dirty water, with a caption New career in the army. My Procrustean chair and sometimes rather boring work feels much better when I look at said poster because my feet are nice and dry.