you gotta stay up late, you gotta stay in bed

Nother dream. Bad ending, interesting middle. Remember enough to call it three acts but I don't wanna write it down. Woke up around 5am looking into the mental faces (that visual imagination is working better even just from the intent!) put forth by a couple invisibles I felt acquainted with. Ordinary-looking human faces, nothing startling, like very well-done pencil drawings on a back-of-eyelid-colored background, is how my imagination put them. One more than the other. They were like, We get something like this, we call mama let her know. I was like, Don't, don't call her, I'll do it myself if she's gotta be informed. I think I composed a hasty short speech and did in fact think it in her direction. She ain't all ears--she's all mouths--but some of her mouths are ears. And I guess it worked because I fell right back asleep no prob and wasn't weirded out any further then or after I woke up.

That kind of ending to the dream. Grr. Just so I remember: Stan from American Dad. Cockpit of a plane. Me talking lies to the blackbox.
Dunno why it creeped me out so. I've dreamed scarier, more explicit things. I was less culpable in those other dreams though. Probably why it came out in cartoon. That goddamn drill out in the hallway those construction guys are using to slice tile. It showed up in that poem I wrote last week and I'm even dreaming the sound now. I think I feel guilty about Myke. I think I feel guilty about a lot of things.

I'm tired and sick and I had a hell of a great time last night. The Lemonheads kicked all kinds of ass, and both of their opening bands also proved themselves capable kickers of ass. Dave bought the CD of the first one, I bought the CD of the second. Brought it to work with the intent of putting it in my compy and listening to it, but I don't feel like it right now.

Quiet, want quiet so my ears can come back from their ringyness. Something that one of the characters in Children of Men says, sticks with me and bothers me much now: That ringing in your ears? That's the sound of your nerve cells dying. When the ringing stops, you'll never hear that tone again.

I was sitting on the train coming back home last night, thinking of that. I had somehow the notion in my mind that if my ears hurt instead of ringing, if the ringing faded out with pain instead of comfort, that maybe the nerves weren't dead after all, just stunned. Pain is one of the things a nerve transmits, right? Maybe the ones that bring pain are different from the ones that bring sound. I wish I knew more [interrupted by phone] .

Yeah, I wish I knew more. "Always, she asks for knowledge." (said with rolled eyes and a deep, if fond, exasperation.) I wrote about that statement before, I think.

Truly, if it weren't that I'm sick and cold and grouchy for various reasons, I would think I had started to well and truly craze a little. (Remember, craze is a verb also. It's what happens to glass when it's pushed outward by, say, an explosion, enough to develop those spiderweb cracks all over but not enough to shatter.)
(Oh thank dog the hostess is here and backing me up on the phone.)

Boss and big Z didn't do punches last night as they both promised me they would, so I can't do jack about payroll which everyone's been bugging me about for a week. We barely paid any bills at all last week and yesterday was meant to be bill-paying day for this week AND last week. We didn't do any of that, so my report on Bills We Ought To Pay is friggin huge and Boss was supposed to come in at nine thirty to go over it with me and vendors have been calling and asking what's happening with their payment.

And now the hostess (Angel today. Jaye was bomb yesterday! She's actually doing private party stuff and I am exceedingly relieved!) is down here. Because of all the construction she can't hear to talk on the phone anywhere else. Which means I should probably start doing work soon and stop posting on my blog.

But but but. I was so happy at the show. So happy the whole time. The first song they played was Hospital, which I never never expected to hear, and I got this big happy grin on my face that lasted all through the set. Even during the jumping up and down and beer-drinking parts.

There's a disease
going 'round the hospital
green green leaves
falling from the trees

you gotta run away
you gotta spin a web
you gotta stay up late
you gotta stay in bed

Even Dave said it was like a perfect setlist. He normally has the connoisseur's woe, that his tastes in concerts are so refined that he's almost never completely happy. But this time he was completely happy with it. The opening bands are both good, and the Lemonheads' set contained, as Dave put it, ten of the eleven songs he had been scrupulously avoiding thinking about with his conscious mind. Thereby freeing, by my view, the resources of the rest of his mind to nudge the Lemonheads towards wanting to play the songs that he, Dave, was not-thinking about with such intensity and passion.

And then to have this dream, which contained many elements I don't feel like writing down, wake me up at five after I'd just gotten to sleep at one-thirty, bone tired and still a little tipsy. May not even have been the dream. May have been just the dryness in my throat. When I woke up I was laying on my back, my mouth was open, and the air in the room was very warm and dry because Dave had turned the space heater on before he came to bed. First thing I did (after the brief mental conversation I mentioned above) was get the water bottle and drink some, then give Dave some to drink as well. (He was barely awake enough to do this.) Drink of water actually helped me remember further facts about the dream.

How do I end up sleeping on my back with my mouth open? Does it mean anything? Am I just clinging to this because it's me, it's within the ambit of things belonging to my identity, and I want to stay as long as possible in it before I go back to work?

Yes. I'm going to go read book and smoke, despite how cold I am, because I think I need to.