I just posted this on Facebook and I decided that it might be fun to post it here as well. It's writing related, in that I wrote it.
Last Night: A Comic Tragedy in 3 Parts
Part 1.
I went to sleep at 8 pm because I have begun to work out and watch what I'm eating again and it has totally wiped me out. Also, I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed at 4:45 am yesterday morning, so really, it was time for me to go to bed anyway.
At 2 am I woke up wide awake after 6 hours of the best sleep I have had in a long time to find Jake, my husband awake, on the couch, playing a game on his tablet. I decided that if I stayed awake at this hour I was going to wind up going to bed at 6 the next night and after a few days of this I would have effectively switched to a nocturnal existence and this would not be good for anyone. So, I went back to sleep.
At some point over the next hour and a half, Jake and the dogs came to bed.
At 3:30 am I was awoken by the plaintive whining of my dog, Molly-Gator. I got up to look at the time, used the bathroom, and told the dog that there was no way I was going to take her out at this hour and that she would just have to wait. Fat chance. The whining continued until I could no longer ignore it, so I grudgingly put on 2 hoodies and braved the 12 degree weather in order to be a good and responsible dog parent.
To begin with, the cold wasn't so bad. Then I made it out of the corridor and into the windy outside. Holy cow, it was cold. So cold. Surprisingly Cody, the dog who has IBS did not poop. He peed and Austin Powers caliber pee, and then scampered around in the cold because he is apparently part Samoyed.
Meanwhile, Molly-Gator, the whining creature who forced me out into the arctic blast in the first place took about ten minutes to find the perfect poop spot. She squatted and I thought "Yay! I can go back inside soon!"
Fat chance.
She continued to squat and strain for another cold, agonizing 5 minutes before she was finally finished with her business. And even then she didn't exactly make haste getting back inside. Of course, by that point I'm sure I didn't even care because I was certain I was going to freeze to death in the meantime.
Part 2.
Naturally, after being out in the 12 degree, windy weather for the past 15 minutes, I was wide awake. I realized that I had not watched anything on television that I wanted to see in about a month, so I decided that this was the time. I turned on Netflix and searched for "Tusk" thinking that I wanted to watch something bizarre.
Wouldn't you know, that movie hasn't hit Netflix yet. I can't imagine why . . . I heard it was God awful and I'm sure Kevin Smith would get more money if he put in up on streaming. Inexplicably, my search for "Tusk" resulted in finding a movie called "The Taking of Deborah Logan" which happened to be a found footage demon possession movie. I love demon possession movies. I love exorcism movies MORE, but the possession is interesting too.
So, I started to watch.
I had put the dogs in the bedroom when I got back upstairs and foolishly forgot to grab my blanket off the bed while I was in there. About 25% of the way through the movie I started to get cold. The temperature inside the apartment was 64 degrees and it was only that warm because I had talked Jake into finally turning on the heater in preparation for the 12 degree weather we were expected to have.
He grudgingly did so, setting it at 64. Lame.
I was really cold, but I was really interested in this movie, and for some reason, pausing the thing DID NOT seem like and option. I laid there, entranced and shivering, curled up on the couch for the rest of the movie.
This might not have been a bad thing, given the nature of the film. I wouldn't have wanted to get lulled into a false sense of security. There could be demon ghosts about trying to turn me into some kind of demon snake killer thing. Not good.
"The Taking of Deborah Logan" concerns a woman who has Alzheimer's in addition to her demon problems. I began thinking about how awful that end must be and what a great premise for a movie it is. I have seen Alzheimer's patients do very strange and scary things without the aid of a demon. The body horror element was very effective. I was sufficiently freaked out.
Finally, the film came to it's thrilling conclusion and I got up to get the blanket. By this time, it was 5 am and I was still awake. What I should have done was work on my blog or write some letters, or clean something, but I wanted to watch more TV and watch more TV I did.
I got under the blanket and started watching the IFC comedy mini-series "The Spoils of Babylon". What I saw of it was really funny, but I didn't see a whole lot because at some point I fell asleep.
Part 3.
I was in a rehab/treatment facility for my pica which had gotten completely out of control. I was eating plastic, which had resulted in a bezoar. I had no idea that this was a problem. I just thought that I was constipated.
The turning point was when I ate Jake's sister's I-phone. Battery and all. This wasn't so distressing at first, but then I realized that digesting a cell phone battery probably wasn't a good thing and that I might explode or something. So, I decided that I needed help NOW.
The treatment facility was very swanky and reminiscent of the hotel in The Shining. My therapist was also the bartender and I could only discuss my pica with him while he was tending bar. This was very frustrating because I didn't want all the other people in the bar hearing about how I eat plastic. It was embarrassing.
At some point, Jake's parents showed up because they thought we were having a nice family vacation at some fancy resort. So, I'm trying to talk to the therapist about eating plastic while they are there while not letting anyone except the therapist/bartender know what is going on.
They brought Grandpa and Jake had a great grandfather who was still alive and was the living embodiment of Cotton Hill from "King of the Hill". He was apparently Jake's Grandmother's Father, or Jake's Grandpa's Father-in-Law. You get the idea. These Grandpas were very excited to play gold at the "resort" and I began to thing that the Cotton Hill one lived there.
At some point I feel the need to use the bathroom and I think "Yay! Maybe I'll pass the battery!" The whole time I have been very worried about that.
I go to the bathroom off the bar area and there is only one working stall and some old lady is in there. I need to go. Now. I hear her fumbling around and she finally flushes the toilet. "Yay! My turn!"
Nay nay.
She opens the door and still standing in the stall she begins blow drying her nether regions. Jake's mom comes in and informs me that I too will blow dry my crotch someday. It happens to us all.
At this point I must have gotten fed up with it all and escaped.
I am driving on I-95 in Tennessee if Tennessee were on I-95. I get off on a exit and find myself in a small town populated by nothing but what look to be satanists, metal heads, or bikers. Or all three. Who knows?
On the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street I see two prescription medicine bottles and I think "Yes! That will make this all stop." So I wind up driving against traffic to get to them. Apparently there are no police in this town as no one even tries to stop me.
When I get to where the bottles were, they are gone, so I decide to get back on the road.
There is no on ramp for I-95. I start driving, hoping to find someway back to where I was before.
I wind up at a WalMart. I use the restroom. When I come out there are a lot of scary looking men leering at me. I begin to think that everyone at this WalMart wants to rape me.
I get back in my car.
This dream occurred some time between 5:45 and 7:30 am when I woke up.
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