January 11th, 2004

Me pink

Heroin dreams seem to be my favorite lately

Yet another dream:

I was sitting at my parents' kitchen table. My Dad was around. He got up to go to the sink, presumably to do dishes, and I saw this as my chance. I grabbed the phone and called the needle exchange. I had tried to call them earlier (I believe in an earlier dream) but was unable to get through; or, more to the point, I got through but was unable to stay connected for long enough to get the information about where to go to pick up the clean needles.

At any rate, I got the man on the phone (something tells me I was talking to a woman on the earlier call). He's asking me lots of questions - do I need needles? Yes. Cookers? Yes. Cottons? Yes... as a matter of fact, I'm saying "yes" to everything, including some things he says that I don't even know what they are, because I figure it'll get me through the phone call faster than actually thinking about my answers. I am concerned because I fear getting disconnected again, and also because I don't want my father to know that I'm shooting up again.

I also have a clear philosophy going behind that ... something along the lines of "I'm not really using again ... it's just a once in a while kind of thing ..." For the record, a similar line of mental bullshit makes up the soundtrack to my cigarette smoking dreams.

Anyway, my Dad returns to the table before I am done with my call. I'm writing stuff down on a tablet of paper and hiding it from him. He, of course, being my Dad, is too distracted by the television to even notice what I'm up to. His only concern in returning to the table is putting the TV back on and cranking the volume up to a deafening level.

So now I have a new problem. I can't hear what the man on the phone is saying, and I just know we're gonna get disconnected soon.

I get up from the table and take the phone and the tablet over to the kitchen counter. I also yell at my Dad and his friends (his friends? Two of them, and the three of them are like a bunch of little boys, being obnoxious together) to turn the TV down.

I return to the call. The man is trying to give me directions to get to his house to pick up the needles. I remember that it involves going through the tunnel and taking the Carnegie exit. I'm still writing and trying to pay attention, but the TV has gotten still louder, and it's making it impossible for me to hear anything else. At this point I start literally SCREAMING at them to turning the goddamn motherfucking television down already ... literally shrieking ... I can actually feel my blood pressure rising in the dream, and I remember thinking that I hoped the needle exchange man thought I was yelling at a little boy, as opposed to my father.

I return to the phone. There's a little screen, like on my laptop. I see the screen do that thing that my laptop screen does when AOL is about to crap out on me. I try to talk to the man but it's no good; the connection is lost.

At which point I start screaming at my father even harder ... "Now look what you've done ... I've lost my connection because I couldn't hear him over the television ... I told you to turn that damn TV down until I was done on the phone ... I would've only been a minute longer ..."

And I'm aware of the futility of my yelling at him - he has the mind of a boy, he doesn't understand - but I'm standing there and screaming anyway.
Me pink


Jonas is teasing me about my LiveJournal.

Jonas taunts me by calling out "Dear Diary..." in the girliest voice he can muster every time he walks past me.

Jonas Jonas Jonas Jonas.

Oh yea ... and everyone is linking this today, so there it is.