Do Nightmares Dream Of Electric Pigeons?
...during one of my daily smaller meals while at work on Tuesday, a prong on my plastic fork broke when I stabbed into my Amy's burrito. Just that sentence alone might give the impression that I either under pseudo-cooked my lunch or that the contents themselves had become fossilized. Rather than be a conscientious consumer, I opted to continue eating without looking for the plastic fragment. So, for the remainder of that day and past of yesterday, I felt like I had a piece of plastic fork held to the back of my throat with a tsunami of phlegm.
This morning, as I do on most Thursday mornings after my work week ends, I feel asleep on the couch. Having appeared to have survived the mystery of the plastic fork fragment, I was moving on to a new false concern...staring contest with a wayward pigeon. In a half-awake dream as I was wrestling myself loose from slumber, a pigeon found me lying on an imaginary floor. It tilted it head to the side and back. It took a step towards me. It tilted again. It got a bit closer. As in real life, my body would not budge in the dream state either. As Kent Brockman has so eloquently dubbed them, pigeons are the flying rat. Thus, I hate them.
Later in the morning, I went for a walk at the trail I usually head towards. For multiple reasons, nothing bothers me more than seeing other people using the trails. How dare they try to get in better shape at the same time as I plan to do so. If someone is behind me, I get slightly insecure about what I look like walking to an observer from behind. If someone walks in front of me, I cannot stand when they walk slower and force me to pass them as it eventually transforms into the previous annoyance. If they are walking towards me, I am forced by general trail protocol to smile awkwardly or stare at the ground like a creep. All of these fears are compounded greatly when you are walking towards an older man that is dressed like Thriller-era Michael Jackson.
All of these pointless incidents got me to thinking about my life of late. In the past few months, I have found myself having adversary with ridiculousness in both real life and while asleep. Old men with mustaches and inappropriately small jackets. Imaginary street birds. Plastic silverware. If I thought long enough, I might be able to find a flying saucer or cyborg stalker in there as well. Then I recall walking past a woman on the trail this morning that was fast walking and either singing or talking passionately to herself. Now I don't feel so bad.
This morning, as I do on most Thursday mornings after my work week ends, I feel asleep on the couch. Having appeared to have survived the mystery of the plastic fork fragment, I was moving on to a new false concern...staring contest with a wayward pigeon. In a half-awake dream as I was wrestling myself loose from slumber, a pigeon found me lying on an imaginary floor. It tilted it head to the side and back. It took a step towards me. It tilted again. It got a bit closer. As in real life, my body would not budge in the dream state either. As Kent Brockman has so eloquently dubbed them, pigeons are the flying rat. Thus, I hate them.
Later in the morning, I went for a walk at the trail I usually head towards. For multiple reasons, nothing bothers me more than seeing other people using the trails. How dare they try to get in better shape at the same time as I plan to do so. If someone is behind me, I get slightly insecure about what I look like walking to an observer from behind. If someone walks in front of me, I cannot stand when they walk slower and force me to pass them as it eventually transforms into the previous annoyance. If they are walking towards me, I am forced by general trail protocol to smile awkwardly or stare at the ground like a creep. All of these fears are compounded greatly when you are walking towards an older man that is dressed like Thriller-era Michael Jackson.
All of these pointless incidents got me to thinking about my life of late. In the past few months, I have found myself having adversary with ridiculousness in both real life and while asleep. Old men with mustaches and inappropriately small jackets. Imaginary street birds. Plastic silverware. If I thought long enough, I might be able to find a flying saucer or cyborg stalker in there as well. Then I recall walking past a woman on the trail this morning that was fast walking and either singing or talking passionately to herself. Now I don't feel so bad.
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