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Jett Superior laid this on you on || February 1, 2001 || 12:46 am

I don’t know why I am here writing; I should be in fucking bed. Or in bed fucking. When it comes time to throw it out there, I can’t sleep. Or if I can sleep, I don’t sleep well.

Here is something funny I noticed a couple of nights ago: When I go to bed at 2 a.m., I seem to be fine the next day. If I go to bed at 3 a.m. then I am completely wrecked the next day. I wouldn’t even be a good paperweight.

Remember in high school how you’d be able to spot the classtime slumberers by that huge fucking red oval on their foreheads? This was for a minimum of five minutes after classbreak. And God forbid they should be wearing a shirt with a largely-patterned weave. Or sweaters.

I spent my time in government class alternating between two activities. One was banging my head on the wall behind me, which was crafted of large cinderblocks, with a far-off look in my eyes (“No, she’s not autistic, why do you ask???”). This used to gross the population of 13 other students out immensely. The other was sleeping. I had funny dreams in that particular class. Our teacher had a stuffed duck (taxidermy-style, not Gund-style) and it my dreams it talked and told the funniest stories. Only it’s head moved, the rest of the body stayed rigid.

My husband makes fun of me for never being up on much news or politics. Here’s the way it works, though: I used to take two papers a day (one liberal, one conservative) and listen/watch to the news. During this period of time, the nightmares that I have discussed here in the past became more frequent and terrifying.

Through an unusual chain of events, I discontinued my news habit and the nightmares dropped away almost entirely. I am now only gifted with these every few weeks.

Coincidence? I don’t think so. And maybe, just maybe, the whole distraction-through-odd-methods-or-simply-and-quite-rudely-sleeping was kind of an opening act for what was to come. Maybe some kind of filter in my brain is off and I can’t stand the ugliness of the real. Like some people are allergic to chocolate. Or like some people are colorblind. Perhaps I am just biologically predisposed to tune it out, turn it off, convolute and/or dilute it.

Sounds stupid, huh? Well, maybe, just maybe.

But I won the schoolwide government award for that year.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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