Month of the Living Dead

My body has been craving sleep lately.  I have been making a point to get my normal sleep allotment, generally about 6-7 hours, only to discover that I am basically dead and useless until about 11.  On the weekends, I've been getting somewhere between 12 and 13 hours of sleep and still am tired at the start of the next week.

And then, the dreams.  Somehow I had a dream about Andy Dufresne hang gliding in Mexico the other night.  Another night, I dreamed there was an old, classic black and white movie that quoted, line for line, Warden Norton's lines when he discovers Andy Dufresne is not in his cell, complete with a character named "Fuzzy Breeches".  Now, while I work in the field of mental health, I am not a psychologist, but I imagine this is probably due to the fact that we often fall asleep with The Shawshank Redemption playing in the background.  But!  Wouldn't it be more fun if the cause of the dreams were deep-seeded urges, insecurities, or repressed memories?  This calls for an amateur psychoanalysis team.  Anything that will help me get my normal amount of sleep and also feel rested in the morning.

Some Very Random Observations

1. I had a dream last night. I dreamed the sanitation department came into my apartment and took all my garbage out. It was about the best dream ever. You can imagine my sadness when I awoke to find that there was still garbage in my apartment.

2. Prior to typing this post, I was idling away time by reading other blogs and clicking a click pen. Then I read the click pen, and it says "Minnesota State High School League" on it. I don't have the damndest idea where it came from or why I have it.

3. I watched The Departed tonight. Since I haven't seen any of the other nominees for 2006, I can't tell you if it should have won or not. The only post-Oscar hype I remember was, "Hey, Martin Scorsese finally won," so I guess there was no big controversy. I can tell you that DiCaprio was pretty good in it, Matt Damon was Matt Damon, Jack Nicholson was Jack Nicholson, and the plot and dialogue were good enough to suck me in for the whole two and a half hours. I can also tell you that acting-wise, the supporting triumvirate of Alec Baldwin, Martin Sheen, and Mark Wahlberg were superb.

As far as how good it was, it regrettably had the misfortune of following The Deer Hunter, a movie which left me with a severe case of second-hand post-traumatic stress disorder. The Departed was not quite that powerful, you could say.

Finally, if there was ever a movie that did not pass Bechdel's Rule, this is it. I think the only female character had all of 20 lines, all of which were said to either DiCaprio or Damon, and got credited below Mark Wahlberg. At any rate, time to strike it off the Big Board, and plan my next move.

4. Just as an indication to how not awesome my week was, up until today I considered the highlight working with Paula Who Stood Me Up A Few Months Back on Tuesday and keeping enough dignity to not ask her out despite her heavy flirting with me. Then today, I got asked out by a different coworker, and said yes, because I desperately need people to hang out with.

5. I think my life would only improve if I could somehow take it upon myself to stop going on dates with coworkers.

I Don't Like the Drugs; the Drugs, They Like Me

Take a body highly reactive to medication and add a slight head injury with a regular ibuprofen regimen and what do you get? Bizarre dreams, of course.

I dreamt I was going to the optometrist in town. I actually need to go to the eye doctor, so this is not really weird. The building I went to in my dream is actually a dentist's office. I actually need to go to the dentist, so this isn't too weird either, aside from the fact that I thought it was an optometrist.

When I went into the office, my cousin was working there as an assistant, except he had evil plans, I tell you. Evil. As a result, before he could approach my eyes with a vicious looking laser saw, I ran out of the building, and discovered I was in Los Angeles.

After trying to locate my friend Randy, and happily remembering that I'm led to believe SoCal is populated almost entirely by beautiful women, I decided I needed a job. Oh yeah, I knew I was in LA because I kept singing "I Love LA" by Randy Newman. I might actually have BEEN Randy Newman, too, because I sounded exactly like him, whereas in reality, I sound nothing like Randy Newman.

Anyway, I hopped into a subway car and started driving along the track until I reached a hospital. The supervisor there told me he needed someone to clean up a massive medicine spill. It seems that the Haldol and Geodon had spilled and were mixing together to form a hazardous material. Why did they have liquid concentrations of Haldol and Geodon? I don't know, but it was my job to clean them up. The only problem was that I'm hyper-affected by drugs, so the hazmat solution would have a worse effect on me than the people he already had. He wouldn't listen, though, so I had to get away by pointing and saying "Look at that!" and then sprinting back to my subway car before he caught me and threw me into the spill room. Fortunately, I made it just in time, and took off in my subway car very fast.

Regrettably, my subway car broke down at the foot of a gigantic, 30 story-tall hill. Since I didn't want to climb the hill, I got out of my subway car and went into the nearest building, which opened up into a boxing arena and I was coming down the aisle with a blue cape on me. I looked into the ring and my opponent was a patient from my unit, but not the one who hit me. However, after the bell rang, I spent the entirety of the match arguing with his manager and entourage about how much I owed them for dinner while the patient ran back and forth.

And then I woke up, and was very confused. And running late for work because my alarm didn't go off.