Ehehehe, if you note the purple list in the right column you will notice that yesterday's dream was a tax dream. Yes it's a provincial joke but a joke nonetheless.
Sometime Monday morning my voice appeared to be returning to me. Right now I believe that my trachea and larynx are covered in a plastic material which is slowly drying out and breaking off into pieces which are being coughed out. Sunday I had a very violent and interesting cough that took place over a garbage can. Good thing my apartment was dark so I didn't get a chance to look very closely at what was dislodged. Right now I feel like fresh pink and healthy trachea is uncovered allowing me to speak normally while the remainder keeps pinching that healthy bit.
I am relieved because now I'm not going to the damned doctor to get a checkup and get told "Durrr, it'll fix itself" because it's already taking care of itself.
Good bye, flu.
Living without hallucinations is like breathing with only one nostril.
— Adam Weishaupt
Monday night I was subject to auditory hallucinations. As mentioned at my pithy livejournal. Around five-ish I heard noise in Olympics Guy's apartment which raised my curiousity. I peered through my bedroom window and was surprised to see there was no white pickup truck in the driveway. I grabbed something and went outside, stalking around the house and intently listening for any shenanigans. Of course had anyone seen me it would've been far more probable that the police would've been called on me rather than the professionals who may or may not have been in his pad. Long story short, too late, everything is in order and there's nothing to get hung about.
Much later I heard a cat caterwauling which made me instinctually look around for Spot. She was napping on the lovesac and oblivious to the mournful singing. I went upstairs and looked outside the laundry room door finding nothing. No cats were serenading at my bedroom window.
So yeah Monday evening was pretty disturbing for me.
Just some preamble so you, gentle reader, can follow along since heptapod.org does not have any bouncing balls.
At my current advanced age I was standing in the third home's kitchen. In the sink were my dishes from 2008 that I was compelled to wash in order to maintain my sanity. I was looking out the window over the driveway and across the lawn of the neighbors in the direction of the Rahway river. It was night time outside and because of the optics I could see everything going on behind me.
My mother came into the room and was followed by the old crossing guard from my elementary school days. What stood out about him was the fact he was always cranky and the way his neck drooped with his adam's apple always made it seem like he was melting to my young mind. When I turned around to face them they were shocked and could not speak to me or acknowledge my presence.
I sat down at the table and pulled out a mason jar full of honey. Squirming at the bottom of the jar were twisty noodles which I began to eat with a fork. They weren't sweet at all or maybe they were so sweet that I was overloaded and couldn't register the taste on my tongue. They disappeared while I started eating and the lights went out in the house.
