Dream in which I am dirty. I am the ultimate dirty bum. This is not just like, oh, I need to wash my jeans, although this is also definitely the case. I'm channeling Pigpen.
In front of the mirror, I try to smooth my greasy hair into some presentable shape but it just keeps expanding until I'm stuck with a giant albino afro. My little sister is watching and is amused by this. So I decide to try to make the best of things, I slick it back into old man greaseball white hair and do a Walter Brennen impersonation. I'm now a bum impersonating a bum impersonating a bum. At least someone thinks it's funny.
Dream in which I investigate the source of a strange smell in my hotel bathroom. Then I see it: a squirming caterpillar is hanging from the inside rim of the trashcan. I back away. This is no caterpillar. It's the khaki snout of a sharp-toothed alligator that has come up from the sewers through a pipe, and is slowly inching its way out.
The alligator's head is out now. It has ears like a pig though, which is confusing for a time until I realize it was a pig all along. I had bought a shrinkwrapped pig at the gas station the night before but hadn't eaten it, just threw it away in my bathroom trashcan. Through some freak accident they hadn't killed the pig at the slaughterhouse. Now it was fully revived and squealing in my bathroom, suspended in midair by puppet strings.
...please stop with the comments! I'm just not used to like 7 unrelated comments on a totally inane entry after years of blogging to myself, it's distressing, like myspace came over for a drink and we ended up making out and now all of a sudden we're a thing. This is a standalone blog where I say stupid stuff & recite meaningless memories into the abyss without any sort of accountability. Always has been. Now the abyss is saying things back & I don't know if I'm hearing voices or what. So please for the love of god and for my sanity and for the preservation of turtledoves as a species of bird with a funny name do not post comments on this inane entry. Thank you,
A yippy dog lives across the hall. He was barking last night around 3:30 am, when I realized he is roughly the same size as the trash compactor slot. The trash compactor itself presumably resides in the basement, 5 stories down. I think this would be a good way to demonstrate the Doppler Effect.
(That's right, invention has two mommies.)
We all have different ways of dealing with the fact that we once lived, or still live, in this place called Rolla. There are just a lot of things you need to work out. Here's one man's way of dealing with it all: videotape yourself naked (except for a ski mask) in the bathtub experimenting with new solutions to an old problem.