I think that what ruins my dream recollections the fastest is reading other post here before writing my own. <=== they’re all mine, idk what I was thinking.

And so, once again I had several dreams, and stay asleep far too long after staying up far too late. I wonder if I’ll ever change that.

You know, I honestly think that’s been a problem in a lot of relationships that I’ve had.

There’s a lot to say, most of it stupid, so instead let’s start with dreams, which honestly are probably also stupid. Once again, I slept fitfully and so I’m not sure what came in where but I’ll give it my best shot at an order.

I was some sort of Professor X character (sweet) and I was going back to visit my old school full of mutants, who were shut in together during quarantine.

The details are becoming fuzzy I try to chase them down, but it definitely felt like an underground, live action version of the 1996 saturday morning cartoon in the future timeline, where they can’t go above ground because of the mutant hunting mega robots.

Only this time, the mega robot was the Corona virus. It was a stereotypical college dorm setup (actually I have no idea what college dorms look like, having had a strange educational experience)

Strangely, the boy and I revisited our old school over the weekend for like 10 minutes

I’m crying anyway. I’m afraid the surgery didn’t work, I am in pain again and physically, with my hand on my body, it doesn’t feel right. I’m back to the state that I was when I started this page, waking up crying for no reason and then writing long streams of conscious thought to see if I can pick out some reason why, like examining the vomit of a suicide attempt victim to see if you can find any of the pills, to know what poison to treat for.

My ex did that for me once.

I don’t think anyone else ever would. Some days I’m glad he did, some days I wish he hadn’t. My shoulder still hurts from the first time he had to stop me from killing myself. Was it even the first time.

Whatever. I don’t know. For some reason I never attempted suicide since he’s been gone, and so now I don’t need him to save me from my own suicide attempts. There’s some important stuff in there that I could pick apart but nah, it’s just word vomit.

I scrolled back and looked, and flipped my playlist back and listened. Ok, back to the dream

The mutant kids were doing usual college kid in quarantine stuff. Which, once again, I have no idea what that is beyond watching early-mid 90’s sitcoms about it and a handful of visits to random schools that were more normal than mine.

I don’t know what was going on, but there was a vacuum in the kitchen. I’m not sure what I was looking to vacuum (I did in the dream though, maybe it will come back to me) maybe it was some crumbly cookies on the floor, but the vacuum was giving me trouble.

The setting was 1996 blue/pink cyberpunk colorscheme, featuring the ultraviolet that Pantone said was going to be taking the world by storm right now, the kids them selves were wearing an unusual amount of yellow and orange clothing to accent the dusty purple of the big wraparound couch. I can’t quite recall if the TV, in the center of the living room where one walks in, was even a modern flatscreen or not. However, I do remember now that the front wall of the living quarters was glass, or at least a good portion of it was, as though these kids were being held prisoner or under observation by someone.

Apparently there were pieces that were supposed to go in the vacuum that were not inside of it, some were in the sink, but then they were wet, and anyway the cookie crumbs were getting messy and I wasn’t able to make it better. A kid wearing a yellow denim jacket with red hair who actually was, now that I think of it, a young version of Gambit from 1996 X-men, volunteered to help, in a sympathetic fashion. The vacuum actually looked like a silver monochrome r2d2, or actually a character from my favorite video game which also came into my life in the mid 90’s

I can’t remember why I had to leave in a hurry, but I did. I felt like these kids were looking to me for guidance, or advice, but maybe they were just waiting for me to leave.

I remember turning back to look at them – I can’t remember if it felt like I knew them or not, but I think so. I remember telling them that they’re mutants, and immune from the disease. After all, they can just use their super powers to combat the symptoms.

I remember telling one girl with a spikey hair bob a la Jubilee that she can just manually stop her blood from clotting so she doesn’t have strokes, which are associated with the “healthy” autoimmune response to this virus.

Thinking about it now, that sounds like a lot of work, how could one sleep? That probably explains her expression.

I, as professor X, control Cerebro which could easily automate such issues into a coherent brain stimulation system such as a c pap does for breathing (and not very well). Hopefully depending on the circuit I needed to access, it could be consolidated into a simple pulse from an unobtrusive headband. The wet cookie crumbs on the floor are beginning to make sense.

There are other dreams. I try not to get frustrated when I don’t get to record all of my dreams because I was sleeping for 8 hours or more and I write for 1 hour at most (check the playlist), not counting everytime I find myself standing at the mirror or staring out the window rather than focused here, as happens more often as my coffee cools and lowers into the mug.

I have a few sips left it looks like, and several challenges rattling my phone. I just looked at my email tab, and there’s a bunch of new stuff pushing all the stuff I should have done over the weekend off the screen.

And this boy keeps bitching about how he wishes his weekends were more productive… Idk, that’s another day, he’s another day. Dudes are so selfish, and why do I keep tolerating that bs. Like dude, maybe it’s not about what you like for a fucking second.

I have to find some way to deal with anger in a relationship beyond going out and fucking some else. Maybe the plague will make me a better person after all.

I feel as though the second dream, featuring my Father who I will now text, was more important than the first dream of Me designing (holy pronouns Batman) automated immune response override using EEG stimulation. The rest of this schematic will go into my hardcopy notebook, which is interestingly the same color as the denim coat of the kid who was helping me wipe cookie crumbs off the floor, which is now extremely symbolic and I should stop writing before I ruin his effort.

Besides, the boy fucking says that that kind of shit doesn’t resonate with him and so basically fuck off, feel free to stuff yourself down the insinkerator if you’d like. I’ll get the switch next time you stick your hand in there to get you started. Don’t worry, I have a broom handle here to unjam it if your glasses get stuck in the gears, it’s cool.

I swore to myself that I’d consider imagining the murder of someone as the official end of the relationship.

I break more of the promises I’ve made to myself than any other person.

My second dream, featuring my Father who I will text shortly, receives context now. I’m planning to have a cigarette after this post.

I want to tell you about the dream, but it was basically my father driving his nice new car into the river.

I hope he doesn’t go blind.