freaky dreams 8.10.2010

So, as most people do, I sleep. Unlike most people, my dreams typically depict a time in the future, and are usually something that I can connect with a specific instance. However, this dream was absolutely bonkers and is something that I hope never happens to me in my life. My guess is that it was a combination of watching Howard the Duck, Big Brother After Dark, and Foamy's Rant that led to such a crazy dream...

I was with a few friends, and we were road tripping across the desert in the middle of the night. The car was rolling along when we realized we were starting to get low on gas. Up ahead, a solitary beacon of light caught our attention: an old Texaco gas station decorated to look like a giant cactus. The four of us quickly stumbled from our sanctuary within the car that had been our capsule throughout our journey and decided to journey to the restrooms. One of us had the presence of mind to actually have the keys and lock the doors to our car so we wouldn't be stranded in the middle of the desert at the gas station we all called "Magnum Cactus" without phone service or much of a link to the outside world aside from the dinky little television the store clerk had to watch reruns of Gilligan's Island.

A sign pointed downstairs to depict the restroom location, and being the brave one - okay, maybe the one who had to go pee the worst - I decided to walk down the rickety flight of stairs first. The downstairs of this strange gas station was questionable and looked rather dirty from the little light that was available. I found something that looked rather like a toilet and started to head that way...when I realized that there were several of what I thought were stuffed animals in the way...but was horrified to find out that these were actually stuffed sexual organs. We joked about wading in a sea of boobs and dicks, and then kept searching for a bathroom. At this point, I was about to pee my pants. A bathroom had better appear almost instantly, or else I was going to be in trouble.

After walking past a room of scantily clad individuals that looked as though they were trapped and had not seen sunlight in at least a year, we finally found the bathrooms to discover that they were the one person only sort. Not being brave enough to go in alone after all of the sights that we had seen on our journey, we debated simply going and peeing outside to avoid diseases. As one person held the door open, someone would relieve themselves and quickly rotate to the sink to wash their hands. I think all of us had visions of hand sanitizer dancing in our heads knowing that it was out in the car.

Having finally managed to find a bathroom, we then decided to try to retrace our steps back upstairs so we could grab a snack and get gas as that was our original reason for stopping. We once again walked past the underground dwellers and waded through the pit of stuffed boobs and dicks with a few stops for pictures to prove where we had been. After finally making it to the staircase, we were hopeful to see a bit of normalcy.

No such luck. As we reached the top of the staircase, the clerk stood there brandishing a gun and demanding that we turn around and head back down. Once again, being the dumb individual who decided to walk in front, I now had a sawed-off shotgun pointed at me that could have blown me and my friends into two very separated nasty halves around the waist level. Our options were to take our chances with the armed clerk or to go downstairs and join the palest people we had ever seen and pray that someone realized we were missing soon. Being risk-takers - I mean, why else would you drive across the desert? - we decided on option #1 without speaking a word to one another, and I jumped toward our once-upon-a-time friendly store clerk who had been all too eager to point us on our way to the restroom. After a desperate struggle, we finally managed to tie up the store clerk, left money for our gas that we purchased on the counter, and open the doors for the others downstairs to escape what surely must have been some sort of brothel.

This is the point where I woke up to the rude alarm that decides to interrupt dreams.

when the beat stops

it happens occasionally. the central beat, the rhythm that causes blood to flow continually through my veins, simply stops. it could be at anytime. it could be anywhere. something that other people find frightening, i find completely normal. why? because i have faith. i believe that even though the beat may stop temporarily, my heart is simply trying to find its own beat. i do have a heart murmur...congenital. for a while, it was questionable whether or not i should have been participating in any athletic activities, although i refused to quit because my syncopation caused others concern.

rather than gliding gracefully with a smooth, steady beat, my heart has been stuck in some sort of jazz rhythm my entire life. one of the most amazing things to me is listening to others heartbeat...the slow, steady, constant beat is something that will never fail to be one of the most precious sounds i have ever heard, simply because it is one thing that i cannot rely upon myself to do.

i've always fibbed when you do the cute little things in class where you take your pulse to find out your resting and active heart rate. when your heart doesn't beat normally, it's difficult to tell how to count. whenever i go to the wellness center [usually for the free salt packets and occasional note for missing class haha just kidding, i'm probably actually sick if i'm going there], the nurses always comment on how odd it sounds. reassuring, right? how do you expect someone not trained in such a field to know what to do if someone who is trained is unable to properly tell and has to call a doctor over for what should be simple preliminary information gathering?

as cher would say, the beat goes on. you know what? she's right.

In Tongues.

The tiger doesn't have a best friend. Never has. Always hunts alone. The wins and the losses are celebrated with the same routine: a slow, careful assessment of what went right and what can be improved for the future, because even with the leanest, most unhealthful diet the tiger lives on to see another day.

The opponents slice away at the reputation of the tiger with each and every day that the stomach continues to growl. Far more than the stomach growls - the soul hungers for something more: to belong. The stripes have never been accepted.