The beaver is a proud and noble animal
Notes from a bemused canuck
| Your Birthdate: August 7 |
 Born on the 7th day of month gives you a tendency to be something of a perfectionist and makes you more individualistic in many ways. Your mind is good at deep mental analysis and complicated reasoning. You are very psychic and sensitive, and you should usually follow your hunches. You may not take orders too well, so you may want to work alone or in a situation where you can be the boss. |
Psychic? or Psychotic? Hmmmm…
Last night, I dreamed that I went trick or treating on the McGill campus (which looked like the Cambridge rail station) and President Dubya Bush gave me a kitkat.
WTF??
I've come up with a nice term for weird dreams: introucing bugs in my OS (It came to me while I was dreaming, but I like it). Katy woke me up last night at 1am to ask me who the pretentious man in a suit was. Mmmokay. She'll come up with random statements like that when she's asleep. Apparently, she was trying to stop a war so it's ok.
I don't know what I did to myself last night but this morning *both* shoulders hurt.
Not a happy camper.
So last night my dream involved:
buying a house from my current landlords and finding the poopsmith in the basement and further finding out that one of the rooms lead to a leasure establishment (think Spirited away, but more Tiki than Oriental) that had Elvis Fridays. Fast forward/segway into an evil overlord-type plan to do something evil (that part is still murky) that involved an insane asylum, the grown up children from Roseanne and a shower that turned me into a really buff samourai with white hair and a sculpted (and well endowed) body… Muh?
I need to get my watch repaired. Joy. I looked at it this morning and it was off by 20 minutes (which by itself almost gave me a coronary as I was running late) and now the sweep hand of the chronograph is stuck. I am not a happy camper.
I only need to brush up on my yorkie pud technique and I'll be ready to match my sunday dinner against Katy's mom. The pig joint we had tonight was spot on, with wonderlicious crackling, lots of veggies and gravy. Hmmmm, bisto!
We went to see The Corpse Bride. I was happily surprised with the movie. Burton movies for me are hit or miss, but I liked this one.
I have the dumbs today.
I had a rough night last night. I blame the quiche. It tasted really nice but gave me a really evil case of heartburn at 2am. I also blame the really psychotic dream I had at around 3am. I hate that sort of dream, especially since I tend to have it regularly. When I'm involved in a particularly challenging or interesting project at work, I tend to take it home with me and I dream about it. Intensively. As in, I'm compiling code bit by bit in my dreams, or trying to create a Theory-Of-Everything or something of the sort. The worst thing is that I know I'm dreaming, and I know it's all crap, but I can't break out of it and I keep going through the motions. The most annoying thing is that when I finally manage to semi-wake up, I'm still thinking about my dream and I have to consciously work at trying to think about something else. It's harder than it seems. You try *not* thinking about something.
Today will not be a productive day.
Katy went bursar last night, and I have no dried frog pills.
I've never actually seen anybody go from manic laughter to crying before, and that freaked me out. Big time. I don't think I handled it well either. It just completely caught me off guard.
Things were going well too, I don't know where this is coming from. Her last car accident really shook something loose in her, because she's been off-kilter ever since.
She's always tired, she's really REALLY touchy, and… its hard dealing with it, of letting things slide when she's snippy at me. I know she doesn't mean it, and that she's not at her best. But sometimes I just wish that she'd remember that I'm not responsible for this and I'm on her side.
I don't know what to do to help her deal with her worries. I try and get her to talk trhough it – while at the same time worrying I'm prying and/or pushing her too much – and all she can tell me is that she doesn't know why she feels happy and sad at the same time and can't decide which one it is, or why.
I know this will sound extremely selfish, but I'm also tired fo having to be the solid, dependable one. I can't have a bad day, or feel crappy about things, because it seems that I have to be happy for both of us. Do you know how it feels to be told “I need you to tell me happy things”? Sometimes I feel like I'm balancing on a tightrope.
I want my old sweetie back, the one who's happy and horny and has energy and laughs for the fun of it.
I'm worried about my sweetie. Things are not going well morale-wise. She's fed up of being sick, which is perfectly understandable, and she's always tired because her cough is keeping her up at night. I wouldn't be overly worried if it was only that though, because those things will get better as she heals.
What *is* worrying me though is that she seems very… fragile right now, for lack of a better word. I don't know how to help.
Mythbusters are love.