I dreamt that my boyfriend and I were talking on the phone about Drop Dead Gorgeous. He told me that he had the name of the movie wrong all along, and it actually had French subtitles and went by a much longer name, one that I can't seem to remember. I told him it actually was only called Drop Gorgeous. He was listening to the infamous song from the movie as we spoke.

We got off that topic, and he started to tell me how he would be missing school the next day because he would be in the hopsital to be operated on. I asked what was wrong, and he said, "Oh nothing, I just would like the surgeon's opinion on my pretty blue eyes." For a brief instant, I was lucid and I said something to myself about how he was going to get 8 ball contact lenses placed in his eyes if he took those blue irises for granted.

I was then coming home from school, and I noticed a letter on my desk from my dad's girlfriend. It was a long complaint about how I had accused her of being a lesbian. I looked at my computer monitor, and there was a journal entry that I had written about how gay she was. I ran out the door waving the letter around, and I kept running into people.

At some point, I ran into my math teacher from school, in my house, and I asked her what she was doing here in my home. She replied, "Honey toots, you gots some serious logarithmicismistic problems and we must sit down and talk about that ooey gooey permutational love."

Ben comes in the house and I ask him how the operation went. He says that it was postponed because we needed to talk about Fermat. I wondered why that could be so important to him. "What about Descartes?" "That's not important!" "You don't have time for Descartes?!" or something to the likes of that.

I woke up and I thought I was on the phone with him. I tried to tell him about my dream, but then started talking about Squirtle and Meoweth (or whatever those Pokemon characters have for names) breeding and forming the Tortoise in the story told by Efwei in Things Fall Apart. I then fell back asleep.

In search of the top of the Eiffel Tower

Last night, I was with someone (I don't even remember who) on the top of the Eiffel Tower. As a matter of fact, I have never been to the top of the Eiffel Tower although I have been living in Paris for eight years.

We were standing on the highest level accessible to the public, but I knew that there was a secret level above. So we started a fantastic journey.

First we passed over a fence, and walked up a kind of road. Don't ask me how it is possible to find a road at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

So we walked for a while, and got to the top of a mountain. However, that was not the top of the tower yet. We had to walk down into the valley, then climb up the opposite side of the mountain. So we did that, and it took a long time. Sometimes we had to climb rocks, and that was not easy. I always thought we were going to find the top of the tower real soon now.

Eventually, somehow I was below a trap door. I opened it, and I happened to be in a university in the 13th district of Paris. And I was still looking for the top of the Eiffel Tower, although the tower stands in the 7th district.

Then I woke up, so I'll never know where the top of the Eiffel Tower actually is.

Mountain walks when I was a child, the fact that I live in the 13th district and passed an exam in a university a few weeks ago (in another district) and a fantastic short story by Dino Buzzati about the Eiffel Tower, that I read many years ago and never thought about it afterwards, can probably be accounted for some of the details, but the whole thing remains a mystery to me.

I was at Zellers, I think, or perhaps it was the new Eatons... Cookware, aisle five.

The new Teflon stick-free cooking pots were on sale for four dollars, down from five hundred, or something like that. I took a can of Zoodles out of my bag, and proceeded to test the worthiness of these new pots, making myself dinner on the gas ranges they had on display.

Unfortunately, everything got burned, and I was forced to leave the store under a cloud of culinary disgrace.

I met this remarkable women writer. She was quite rich, and I think a psychologist or anthropologist although not really practicing either. She was having a party, but was so shy as to be almost invisible. Another woman explained to me that this writer had used many pseudonyms, or maybe her name used to be different, and that some of her first books were written under the name of Lionel something, a book about a jellyfish; it seemed to me that I'd read it.

I don't always remember my dreams, but I'll often remember parts of them. As fact. As solid fact I need to worry about in my day to day life. Sometimes I'll make phone calls or act somehow on the dream events, realizing halfway through that they're not true, not real, not (generally) even possible.

Today's delusions:

my menstrual period has only lasted 4 days, but already I can see on the calendar that the next one is due in a week. I'm angry. At this rate I'll never catch up.

I've asked my father for permission to skip work for a week, and it is an irreversible event.

My cats have started to fight, and I cannot ever ever return the new cat.

I am up too late to get to work in time to arrange an EFT for a client.


The general trend seems to be that I'm in too much of a hurry. Sigh. Seldom is such clarity so easily obtained.

I'm at a carnival eating green cotton candy. I'm standing next to a booth all by my lonesome, when I see nate walking towards me. I quickly hide the cotton candy behind my back. Last time he was alone, he ate my granny's undies I had in my quarters.

nate: What's you hiding, Zozo?
me: Nothing...What's that behind your ear?

As he moves his hand to check his ear, I tackle him down. He moans, and I steal his wallet and take off running. He chases me onto the ferris wheel. We're sitting there enjoying the view, when he leans towards me and licks my ear. I giggle and then **pooof** I wake up.
I work in a group home for developmentally disabled boys. One of the boys (he is practically a man really) wraps his hands in his shirt behind his back so tightly that sometimes it is impossible to get off and nothing will convince him to remove it. The other night I was required to aid another counselor in cutting his shirt off. Sometimes the knots are so convoluted and he struggles so much that you fear you might cut his hands, or even sever a finger. He doesn't talk, and his pain tolerance is so high that you wonder if you would even know until it was too late. Great care is taken to ensure that the young man is comfortable and safe, yet it can be very stressful.

Last night I dreamt that I had to cut off this young man's head because I needed his shirt. I was using a pair of scissors. As you can probably imagine, this took quite a bit of time and I had someone else help me by holding him still as I did this. When I was done, I removed his shirt and put it on over my own. I needed the shirt for a disguise. There was blood soaking the bottom of the sleeves, but not the neck as one might suppose. Wearing the shirt made me feel sick, yet it was a necessary thing.

I escaped with a suitcase. I knew they were close on my heels. They knew what I had done. I made it to the airport safely and was going through the security check when I came to a horrible realization: I had left my gun in the suitcase, I could see it on the x-ray screen and so could the security folk. I had been caught.

Flash back to where I left the young man. He has been put back together and is fine, but he will have a scar. His mother, a very strong woman (emotionally). She wants me dead. The look in her eyes is steel with a razor sharp edge.

I awoke to the phone ringing. Groggily feeling around for the cordless, I finally find it in the crack between my bed and my desk. It's my boss, I'm late for our meeting. I must have turned off my alarm in my sleep.

I try very hard to keep the emotionally stressful part of my job from getting to me. Sometimes it finds me in my sleep.

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