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Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Angry Old Bee

Another day of rain. Joy. Yes, we need the rain but it’s all dark, gloomy and wet out there and I can’t go for a trike ride. Hmmph.

Woke from a dream where I was living in my old pre-Amazing Bob studio apartment.

Despite the minikin size of the joint, I used to throw a lot of parties there. I loved the fact that it didn’t take hundreds of bacchanalians to make for a successful seeming fete. 20 guests and the place was packed. Three more and KY jelly was needed if you wanted to scratch your chin or take a sip of your bev..

In the dream, I was having a wee (only ten guests) dinner gathering when who should walk in? A man who, in real life, I despise a thousand times over with the heat of two dozen Rigels. Why do I loathe and abhor this repellent slug turd (not to dis gastropod mollusc feces, mind you)? He was a dear friend’s wickedly abusive (physically and emotionally) husband and the father of her children (also abused).

She finally was able to extricate herself but it took, practically, heavy equipment and an act of congress to do it. I truly don’t get why abused women often stay for years (forever sometimes) with the malevolent shitstains who torture them AND their children. Yeah sure, I understand to an extent. I do. Truly. The lack of self protection/survival instincts amazes me though. But that’s a different discussion.

Back to the dream. The rotted zombie fucker walks into my kitchen with a big smile but he did seem to understand that he wasn’t welcome by me. Incredibly, I didn’t kill him or even eject him from my home. Why not? Eh, he was the guest of a friend and....what?

In reality, if I ran into him at someone else’s party, I’d avoid being in the same room with him at all costs OR I’d simply leave. If he walked into one of mine, I’d tell the friend who brought him that the gelatinous, cockroach puke wasn’t welcome. The friend could stay but not the puke. Third scenario — I’d rip the self obsessed, brain dead, toxic, midget dicked, rat excrescence’s head clean off and poop down his neck. Yup, that’ll do.

But back to the dream. Toxic Boy was playing grab ass with some of my guests. I warned him off once in a civil tone. When I caught him a second time I went full metal Kali by way of Mother Superior. Felt good.

And then, all of a sudden, I realized that I had an 8:30 PM flight to Rome to catch. Would all my guests have arrived, had din-din and left by then? Was I checked in? As luck would have it, my digs were connected to Logan. In fact, I just had to pass through one door to be at my gate.

Convenient! Yes, all checked in, no security to go through and I could get back to the party.

And then I woke up. What does this mean? Anything? Is this dream just a manifestation of the anger I still have about the violent chunder headed, diseased and suppurating maggot zit AND my desire to both let go of the fury or otherwise escape?

Got me hangin’. Time for more coffee and cats.

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