The last night I changed from my current running club to another - surprisingly a thing what I will do this week for real too! There were couple of other runners from the new club and their chairman had plenty of ganja in his room. I made a baguette for myself and the chairman offered me couple of bits of hash to put inside the baguette. I was of course willing to do so but hashish didn't work properly. I just felt all my moves slowing down but I was able to think very clearly.

Then a guy from my former running club appears and morally condemns my club swap. He says there are couple of good new guys in the club and he seems very disappointed that I'm leaving. I say none but the mates from the new club told him to stop whining. The chairman notes that I've finished with the baguette and hands me his dimebag. I don't like being drugged but I go for another round anyway.

We talk a lot about running and other plain stuff. Some their remarks are quite interesting but I cannot recall them anymore. Talking defied logic.

My side has hurt all day....
I had this fucking creepy dream about three weeks ago.
And last night I had it again.
And the night before last also.
There have only been a few times in my life where I have had the same dream twice, much less three times.
I think I'm going to die.
(well not really)

In the dream, just above my left hip, I had some injury that I knew was weird, and somehow I picked at it or something...
And it (the injury) is shaped like an ice cube kinda, like the ones that are rounded sort of the side, or like one of the popsicle things little kids make on their own.
Only the shape on the outside just looks square-ish, the popsicle is going down into me, like I'm the ice cube tray.
And first I pulled out this top layer and it was like gelatin, pretty much clear and slimey, like the Lychees you get at an Asian Market.
And then I dug around (yeah, in my side) and got out the rest of it which was like hard resin or something.
And it was a pretty deep hole in my side and it was sore, not really painful, but it hurt, and it just kinda filled up really bright red... I think liquid, it wasn't a solid I knew that, but it didn't drip or bleed or anything.
And I was extremely concerned about this because I had no idea what was wrong, and this was a pretty nasty "problem" I had going on.
So I am walking around with these two piece of stuff that came from my side in my hand, and I show my mom and I'm tell her something like: "Um... don't you think I should go to hospital? This seems kinda bad to me...."
But I'm real unconcerned and sort of shy about asking her, like I don't want to piss her off by asking a stupid question (My mom has high-standards. Go Figure.)
And she looked at me like I was dumb and said not to worry about it, it was nothing, I was overreacting.
And then somehow I was in the passenger seat of a car with some friends, and someone I'd never seen before but I think he was supposed to be an uncle of mine.
I was still hurting, bad.
I couldn't buckle my seatbelt, and I wanted to go to a doctor, because I knew that if a doctor saw they would freak out, because it was something bad.
But nobody around me seemed to be that concerned, and I wasn't even THAT flipped out... I was very detached... my head was nervously spinning about what I was going to do, but I certainly never went into a panic.
So we're driving along, and I'm just kind of saying...
"uh... hey guys... um... I think this is bad.... don't you think maybe we should swing by the emergency room.... yeah it hurts and stuff....."
But nobody really pays attention.
For some reason we are in the car going to a museum, but we're stuck in traffic on this HUGE highway, and I'm still holding the parts from my side, and trying to figure out a way to get to a hospital.
We come up on the exit to the hospital, and I close my eyes and pray that my best friend, who is driving, will get off on that ramp...
But slowly the ramp slides by...
And then I don't know what to do.

That spot on my side has felt weird all day.
Again.
Thank god I don't own one of those "What Do Your Dreams Mean?" books.

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