January 17th, 2003


First, Weird Dreams Again...

I'm posting this as a seperate entry, simply because I won't be able to scan too well tonight otherwise. I'm on Oxycontin and Flexeril for a dumb back thing (more on that later), so this may come out pretty damn weird. I apologize in advance.

I have these dreams involving waves a lot. Big, crashing, ocean waves. Usually, I'm in a building that's right on the shore, and the waves eventually crash into it. Very creepy.

This time I was on an island, watching the storm from a greater difference. This time, the storm passes, and the sun comes out. We were in some sort of shelter from the storm, and people began singing that bit from the end of "Age of Aquarius"... you know, the bit about letting the sun in and all.

Michele was with me, and as we left, we were accosted by a bunch of women who took her away... it had a very Orwellien Matriarchial Society from Hell feel about it (I don't even LIKE those kinds of movies... being in one was creepy). They told me she was being taken to a room number (not the single digit one from "1984", It was a five digit number that they wouldn't confirm when I tried to check to make sure I remembered it correctly).

I began searching the building for the room, but it turns out the room numbers weren't in sequence. I remember thinking it made no sense to number a room if you had to know where the room was before you could find it.

I wandered into one room with machines that looked like medical monitoring equipment, certain I was about to be discovered at any moment...that horribly squishy paranoid feeling. Someone did discover me, and I was forced to fight for my life. As a result, they dies (I wasn't sure how, though... it felt like just touching them killed them). I was horrified, as now I had to find Michele AND escape from this country/society.

I found myself lurking through elevators and back passages, until I came to a cubical farm that was incredibly crowded by people. About here I realized that the only other male I ran into was a janitor I ran into in one of the service elevators.

I was in a total panic at this point...fortunately, I awoke with that disorientated "Oh wow, it was only a dream?" feeling.

I told Michele about it yesterday, but for very good reasons, she didn't get around to telling me what she thought. lavendersage has told me SHE thinks the waves in my dreams are equivalent to the Tower in tarot... cataclysmic change that feels destructive, but is important before you move on to the next phase of...well, whatever. The Tarot deck I use, Motherpeace, has an excellent image for the tower. Lightening striking a tower is a common representation. The difference in my deck is that it is also shown striking a log, which burns partially, allowing for the creation of a canoe. You can either control change, or be controlled by it, and so forth.

People who know me well know my deepest secret: I suck when it comes to change. Badly. But this time, the waves didn't crash into me, and the storm passes...but that new element of Michele being taken away, and my searching for her, bothers me, a lot. I can only guess at what it REALLY means.

My old thereapist once made an interesting point about dreams. I had heard that you play everyone in a dream, but she noted that you also play every THING in them as well. Thus the waves, the person who dies, all those women, even the cubicles are all a part of some subconscious psychodrama that I'm playing out. What does the elevator mean? The room wasn't in a basement level, it was higher... maybe two, three stories up.

Maybe it's just a weird dream.
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Yo Maniacal Tang

Boy, is MY Face Ever Read!

I orginally intended my last rant, posted a day or so ago, to be private. Obviously, as the comments and private email came rolling in, it became apparent that I hadn't.


Well, in a way I guess I'm glad. I normally hide the serious ranting because I'm afraid that people will think I'm seriously unhinged (as opposed to just mildly nuts). Yet people have been so damn supportive, it almost makes me ashamed that I complained in the first place.

Of course, I'm NOT ashamed...the whole point is to get this stuff off my chest. Clear the air. Stop it from munching on me like some sort of soul eating bacteria. Antbiotics for the spirit. Can we beat this simile to death? Sure I can. It's MY journal, after all.

While I owe a few of y'all a personal reply, I want to clear up a few points:

- No, it's not the interviews that are goign wrong. I actually interview VERY well... all three were very close, and I was edged out by a slim margin. That "thin letter" actually was usually a personal phone call from the hiring manager, all of whom made it clear that it was literally a coin toss in each case.

I think my frustration is NOT getting the interviews. If I got them, at least I would feel as if I were getting somewhere, even if I didn't get the jobs.

- I found the wallet. I realized there was only one place it COULD be, which was Roni's, and that if she couldn't find it, it had to be under one corner of the bed (where looking from either side or the ends would miss it). Turns out it was remarkably close to where I expected it to be. You know, there's something about that moment, when you feel your hand on something you had half convinced yourself was gone forever, when you feel this sort of "whoosh!" of relief... it was almost worth misplacing the damn thing to begin with.

- Michele worked on my sinus trouble last night, and (after inflicting MUCH pain on the appropriate facial pressure points) my head was a lot better. However, when I woke up this mornign I realized I had somehow managed to torque my upper back. Since I wasn't doing much as far as lifting (or even wild sex) this was a surprise. Robin, bless her, told me that Dr. Jeff (my chiropractor) had hours in Boulder Creek proper after 4 PM on thursdays (I knew he was there in the morning...the afternoon hours were news to me). I called his machine in town, and it confirmed it.

So I gingerly drive in (It's hard to drive safely without turning your head and upper body in certain ways, and some of those motions were intensely painful), park in front of the office 5 of 4 to try and squeeze in an emergency visit (the very first time I've ever shown that much self care, damn it!)... and saw a white sheet taped to the inside of one of the windows. My heart sinking, I approached the office and read it: He was out that afternoon for a "personal matter".


I went home and bummed the flexeril off of Rob (bless her twice!) and made it to the city. I took a Codeine/Ibuprofen first, which barely touched it. I took a whole flexiril about two hours ago, and IT didn't touch it. That's when Roni gave me the oxycontin...and it's a tribute to how screwed up my back is that I can still use my fingers and type this an hour later. It is getting a little harder to think, though.

Anyway, I'm guessing I'll be better tomorrow. A big round of hugs to all of you for thinking of me.

The Return of Mirsky's Worst?

Well, looks like someone's decided that I should have been aborted before birth. No, I'm not kidding:

Something Awful. No Really.

Scroll all the way down to the bottom. I contemplating sending a note to his ISP. He's perfectly free to bitch about my site, but I don't appreciate posting my work on his site without permission.

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