I had a nightmare last night that was based in reality.I dreamt about a situation in my life that is real, that I hate. And because what I dreamt was real, I didn't even experience the relief of waking up and going "Whew, it was just a dream!"
That is so unfair.
I can't tell you what I dreamt. Never mind that. But I have had this dream many, many times now. The worst thing is, the situation I dreamt of is not even one that I can change. It's something that's out of my hands. I can change the fact that I'm out of work, or out of school, or not social enough (well, in theory I have the power to change these things, at least), but I can't change this thing. I've wanted to so badly, I've tried, I've tortured myself thinking about it. But I know now that there's nothing more I can do to change it. It's not something I'm meant to have control over. There's nothing more I can do, so I need to move on, but the fact that I'm now dreaming about it does NOT help matters.
Why the hell am I having literal dreams, anyway? Aren't dreams supposed to be surreal, with hidden metaphors and all that shyte?
I don't like this. What ever happened to good old fashioned sex dreams? Hell, I'd even prefer the dream where I'm falling off a cliff, or the dream where I'm in public and suddenly realize I forgot to wear pants. At least I can wake up from those ones.
Grrrrrrrrr.
Damned subconscious. *Spits*
Oh, in other news, I finally got rid of my blasted ugly advertisement-infested Bravenet guestbook and got a new one from SignMyGuestbook. So far only one devoted reader has signed it, so be sure to go there and leave your mark, if only to make me feel loved.
Or don't. I'm not really that needy.
I'm going to go and figure out what do do with my evening now. Maybe I'll come up with something other than "stare slack-jawed at the wall and drool".
Hmm. My self-deprecating jokes about my lack of a life are wearing pretty thin. I don't think I'm even funny anymore, I'm just a broken record.
I'm going to try to make jokes about things that don't directly relate to The Saga of Lara's Pathetic Existence from now on, just to find out if I'm actually capable of being amusing without my pity-me gimmick.
Anyway, I think you should read someone else's diary now. Like OctoberGirl's diary. Because her diary is enviably cool, and because she looks like a young Gillian Anderson. Which for some reason I find cool despite never having watched an entire X-Files episode. I should have come up with more eloquent arguments for reading her diary, but my sudden hunger pangs appear to be impairing my ability to think right now.
So yeah. Read OctoberGirl.
And have a good night.
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