Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion) (montecristo) wrote,
Robert (Bro. Pepper-spray of Reasoned Discussion)

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Flower petals.

Sometimes, life is a handful of flower petals. They smell nice, they're soft, with a wonderful texture and excellent color, and you know that if they were assembled correctly they'd make a really beautiful flower, but sometimes you just can't figure out how they fit together. Heh.

It's 4:30 AM and I woke up. I'm awake, and I don't know why. There's nothing in particular bothering me. I fell asleep with the bedroom light still on again. Sometimes I should just turn the light off, instead of thinking that I'm just going to read a little while. I was having a dream composed of very fragmentary images. In it, I saw the ex. She was at a picnic. The girls were there, and possibly others, but I didn't take note of anyone in particular. The ex was standing in front of a very cluttered picnic table full of food and other miscellaneous items. One of the items, at the end of the table, was her sketchpad. It was open and there was a work in progress, in pastels, on the page. I couldn't tell, or don't remember what the subject was. I wonder if she still sketches. Is it stupid to occasionally miss a woman after three years? That question occasionally vexes me, but it's just me, stupid or not.

I dreamed I was standing in my parents house, in their bedroom, looking out the window. My mother was outside the window, on a ladder, washing the window, or something. Somehow, the ladder tipped over backwards. I yelled, and my father, who was down in the driveway below looked up, but no one could move fast enough to catch her. She landed in the driveway, on her butt, and broke both legs. There's a goofy subconscious for you: it's my father who's going in for a consultation about getting his knees replaced today.

In the last couple of weeks, I've hung out with emmabovary a couple of times. We're very careful when we speak to one another. It strikes me as strange. I wonder if she's noticed. She's getting ready today to hit the airport for France. I hope she has a nice, safe, uneventful trip home.

Now it's 6:00 AM and I hear the alarm going off in the bedroom. Time to get ready for work.

"'Slimy mud-hole'? This is my home!"
-- Yoda

"You're not exactly 'Mr. Clean.'"
-- Luke Skywalker, from the Mad Magazine parody of Star Wars V: The Empire Strikes Back

Feng Shui: It means, 'Make More Money'. The inscrutability of Asians is a ridiculous Anglo-American pretense.
Tags: dreams, ponderings and curiosity

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