2005-04-16 - 2:10 p.m.

My Brain Has Only Partially Exploded

Proof that I still existed at 1:49 pm PST. My hair is getting long.

Well, I'm still alive. Feeling a bit better. So many infections: lung, then sinus, then eye, now I think it's my lungs' turn again. The weird tingling comes and goes. Frustrating. And I am now getting white beard hairs. White! I skipped grey altogether!

But...

We're moving! Yes, yes, yes. Excitement abounds in the house of the Bee and Monk. Our new apartment (well, condo) has its own washer and dryer, a skylight in the kitchen, and an extra bedroom! Fresh start! Yes!

Also, I bought a food steamer and am now convinced that it is the best appliance in the world. It makes everything perfectly and deliciously: Vegetables, rice, fish - you name it. I eat WAY more veggies now that they are so instant and scrumptious. It cost me $50 at the Superstore (it was the most expensive one).

Dinner is steamed. I love asparagus.

I've been having a plethora of dreams and nightmares lately. The other night I had this weird gun dream... Understand, please, that I know nothing about guns and I hope to never run across one outside of a video game. But in this dream, I came home to my beautiful house on a cliff-edge constructed of big segmented windows and darkly oiled wood, and my sisters were there excitedly pointing out the window at the big military attack helicopter circling our house. "Oh," I said nonchalantly, "I forgot about that thing!" and went over and opened the top drawer of my antique bureau. Searching among the knick-knacks, I found what I was looking for: my .22 calibre bolt-action target pistol. It had a long black barrel and stock where you could steady it with your left hand. I grabbed an apple off the table and went over to the window and easily shot two bullets into the apple at the top and bottom, which fixed the apple to the window like tacks through a poster. I then gave a thumbs up to the gunner in the helicopter (sitting at the big machine gun that hangs out the open side of the copter) who smiled enthusiastically and proceeded to shoot 8 rounds right through the middle of the apple as I stood there impressed by his marksmanship.

The really weird thing is that 1) like I said, I know nothing about guns (only one time have I ever held one: I picked a big heavy silvery handgun up off the coffee table at a drug-dealer's house, thinking it was fake, then put it down very gingerly when the guy said "careful - that thing's loaded.") and so this whole ".22 bolt-action" thing was obviously just phrases I had gleaned semi-consciously from movies and video games, 2) when I woke up, I was pretty convinced that "bolt-action" was something that was only on old western rifles not sleek black modern pistols, and 3) when I did a little searching, I found that there are indeed .22 bolt-action targeting pistols and they look exactly like what I had in my dream!

This was pretty much exactly it. I am frightened by the million-bazillion guns for sale on the internet.

Scary.

Of course, I also dreamt that I was Jerry Seinfeld and I was starring in a new comedy/drama in which I (Jerry) inadvertantly got caught up in a dangerous drug ring, and when I revealed that I was not who they thought I was, they dragged me down a highway on a box full of "merchandise" roped between two pick-up trucks. As I clung to the box, various muppets came rushing towards us in fantastical plastic vehicles, as well as wheel-less picnic tables with 6 or 8 disembodied human heads who all rocked their heads back in forth in time to the music, which was a J. Lo song with the words "Jerry Seinfeld is crazy/ you are crazy/ cra-a-azy!" over and over. I think it would be a hit show.

So there is no accounting for my waking sanity.

If you are so inclined, you can see the Object Records website that advertises the Japanese disc that I appear on (under "The Matrix Project"). I am apparently going to get copies. Thank-you, deseptagon, old friend.