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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Friday, April 16, 2004

Hit Pause.

More dream stuff: Earlier this week I dreamt that I was late and getting ready for work. I pulled on my slacks in a hurry and was getting my things together. Someone with me (don't remember who) mentioned that I was wearing a special new kind of slacks that wicked away moisture and oil at an incredible rate. I looked down in horror and there were the soaking wet, oily outlines of the tops of my thighs looking up at me.

Our group at work is temporarily moving to another floor while some construction takes place on ours. I also have a huge deadline for Monday, and the two facts have collided in a mess of moving boxes and sloppy folders on my desktop. Things have been a bit chaotic over the past week or so; and I've taken refuge after hours in my video game worlds when I can. But obviously some of the stress of my days are bleeding into my nights.

Then there's the added stress of a potential real estate investment opportunity that has opened up for the Boyfriend and me. I won't go into detail here, but besides treading on the terra incognita of real estate speculation, I have to make a decision in the next few days. Yes, while my office is being torn up and I'm valiantly battling for the forces of good advertising (if there is such a thing.) Will the real estate market dry up this year? They've been calling it a bubble for years now. I don't know. It's just a moving target.

So I don't think it's the espresso that's making my heart race. It's the days shuffling past in boxes and bubbles. I can feel them moving with or without me, pushing forward, raising a sweat on my thighs that, though I can't see it, I can certainly feel.

This makes the extra hour or so I have home from work this evening that much sweeter; it's like hitting pause during a particularly chaotic moment in a video game. Guess you've figured out how I'm planning to relax this evening, then. Those moving targets aren't necessarily bad things, as long as you're on the right side of the photon blaster.

06:35 PM PST (link)

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.

My contribution to the Dream Meme: Last night I dreamt that I was learning/lecturing about prehistoric mammals in (generic town). Eventually I gave up on looking at ditches and gulleys where giant mammals huddled and found myself rolling a keg of beer on the sidewalk through a crowded public park. I did pretty well with it, though at one point it went careening through the park towards another keg, nearly knocking theirs over. I had a huge dog with me who enjoyed playing chase with the keg but was a little skittish around other people. As we passed through a tight space, the dog was very hesitant to walk through someone's rock garden, and I yelled at it to go in. Then I realized there was razor wire and sharp edges there, and felt bad about directing the dog there.

I'm not surprised that I dreamt about beer, actually. Downing four pints of Red Hook before dinner last night was probably not the most responsible choice, given how the text on the monitor was spinning when I got home last night. But I had a lot of fun meeting some new people and seeing other friends...all of whom maintain LiveJournals, we determined. Go figure.

So while I certainly have no regrets, this morning has been a little rough, and I think I've been barking at my coworkers a bit, directing them directly into the sharp barbs of our workday. Perhaps I ought to admit that I need some more coffee and an Advil.

Bonus links: I'm reminded by my own title: Marlon Riggs, we still miss you.

12:17 AM PST (link)