The Consequences of Falling to Sleep Whilst Listening to the Smashing Pumpkins

Lately, I have been unable to recall (mostly) my dreams, for they're absurd blobs of half-formed sorrows and disappointed expectations that don't make much earthly sense beyond communicating... Sadness. Anyhow, I think I might have found the remedy, strangely enough, hidden in the melodies of the band which best communicates the sort of sorrows present in my dreams: The Smashing Pumpkins. I listened to them as I (quickly) went to sleep and had a characteristic (of Kristen past, that is) dream: I found myself staying in a house kept by an overwhelmed, corpulent, and Southern old woman whose son either was Satan or frequently served as Satan's puppet. It was comically scary... I told "Satan" that vegetables and fruits would help with his constipation.

(You'd dream of Satan, too... LOL)

There was more to my still-absurd dream, but that's the only highlight worth a mention.

In other news, I still hover at 130 lbs. BAH! I don't think I'll ever be able to regulate myself between 120-125 (my preferred weights) with diabetes. I used to fluctuate: sometimes, I'd eat more; other times, I'd eat less. Now, because of the set-up I'm on with long-lasting and rapid-acting insulins, I have to eat 1800 calories a day- at least- to keep away hypoglycemia.... Which means that I remain at this darned weight. BAH.

Speaking of diabetes, I intend on doing a post here dedicated solely to my experience with it in the beginning and before I knew I was diabetic (NOW INCLUDING the the oh-so-interesting account of why I still have nail fungus!).

I dreamed..

Un-asked for, you appear. The both of ye.
Go away- I'd rather suffer dull dreams than worry about you two.. I just can't
Help. I pray you find help for yourselves through Him.

It was an elaborate dream- one of the longer, more detailed ones. I shall only recount one part.

(Names have been changed, even though I don't feel as if it was a needed measure).

I was sitting on a hill in the night, across from someone- I cannot recall who. As I stared off beyond the person in front of me, you rode up on your bicycle. In the dream, it was understood that we were no longer together even though "you and I had never really broken up, we had just stopped talking to each other." You sat down and hugged me. I obliged, but expected you to launch into a rant on your current life. We kissed, and afterward marveled that it was the first time I had kissed a smoker- yet I don't believe there was a difference. We talked of light subjects, and soon after we began to walk towards my neighborhood. I noticed that you didn't have your cocky gait any longer: instead you appeared as if your will had been broken and you were submissive to whatever force you rebelled against before.

We arrived on the street before mine- Ivory- and on the corner of that street and the one that intersects both Ivory and my street was a group of people. As we walked past, they called out, "Hey- is that you, Brad? Come over here!" But the person walking alongside me was not "Brad." However, when I looked over, the person- let us call him "Dan"- was no longer of medium stature with brown hair but was instead tall, stately, and overwhelmingly blonde, just like "Brad." Yet in the dream, though I took note of this, it did not register with me as a change or anything out of the ordinary. "Brad" walked back towards Ivory- I think we had an agreement to meet up later that evening- but we never did. I think I had decided to leave him be.

Metaphorical Tornado

As the skies grew darkest, I was left alone..
Loneliness is my home, when most I feel.
Inside I prayed that you'd protect me..
Verily, I go where only I can.
Ever I will forgive you for my passage.

I dreamt..

And in that dream, it so happened:


I was sitting at a bench in a large field before what appeared to be a stereotypical New England private college (white, pristine, old but well maintained, statues dotting the courtyard- it even had the classic path leading to a circle going both ways about a fountain in the middle of the path). I was not alone; at least, I was not alone, technically. Sarah and a few other people that were paying little attention to me were there, too, and though I wasn't particularly enjoying the interaction with the other people (because, as I said, they paid me little heed), I wasn't too miserable.

The sky, as we sat beneath it, appeared as most skies do right before a wicked, fast-moving storm, except that the clouds morphed from type to type, changed color, and moved from here to there within seconds. A cloud that was a steel grey one moment became black the next and then would revert back to a near-white, dull grey. I was spending a lot of time looking at the sky, and as I watched, a group of terribly black clouds conjoined and formed what soon became a funnel-cloud and then- in a matter of seconds- a tornado that was about a half-mile from us (yet not bothering us, yet). At first, its path pushed it towards the beautifully stereotypical school building, but it soon bounced back and headed towards the picnic table where we sat when it reached the school's gates.

My friends, who were sitting on the ends of the picnic tables (in other words, in positions which allowed them to get up from the table and run with little effort), sped away in directions horizontal to the table, but I was unable to rise in time to safely run (I was situtated in the middle of the table and took a long while climbing over the bench). By the time I freed myself of the bench's stiff support, I had no time to run either right or left (I know, in reality, a tornado wouldn't be able to be escaped by running right or left away from it, but). I fell to the ground- somewhat like the suggestion always made for one to lay in a ditch, should one be out when a tornado forms- and held tight to the muddy, perfect, prepatory school sod. Ten dream seconds or so later- and after already beginning a feverish prayer to God to help me through and keep me from harm- the tornado was atop of me, where it span in its circle for a good ten seconds or so, trying its hardest to uproot me from the ground. I kept praying and my task- to stay connected to the grass in order to not be sucked into the vortex- was easy. The tornado passed and continued on.

Afterwards, in the halls of the school, as my friends began to gossip about the tornado, I would interject with my story of being within it and not being harmed. However, even though I presented my story each time with zeal, each time my "friends" (many of them the ones who fled in fear themselves) payed little attention to me and my story and, in fact, blatantly ignored me (as people often do in reality).

I had made it through a tough time, with God's help, and no one cared to hear of what was, to me, a miracle.

It both foretells and sheds insight on the past. This story- my story- is all my own. What is spectacular to me is old hat to others.. Or simply not interesting in the least. I have my tales. And I wouldn't trade them for anything.

It's best it was a dream

Sweet visions..
Made simple by time.
Images I crave, for they are safe.
Listen to me: we are young, and you..
Exit, as I wake.

They're cute, the dreams I have.

Just last night, you tried to make me smile (oh, you do not know it, but you did). I shook in fear instead, because I am a fool (that much is apparent!).

I wish I would have smiled, it'd have meant the world. Next time, I will smile.

But let it be in my dreams, for just today I tried to smile and my lips split, blood slowly welling from the fissures.

Excuse the lack of makeup. I did not feel like wearing any today: too hot.

They have returned..

Dreary through and through, they are;
Rife with surreal tendencies, I dream them
Ere they leave me, again.
All of the day, I wait for such nights-
My goals and wishes met, in strange ways- and all I must do is
Slumber.

For a long while, my dreams have slowly been increasing in content and meaning again. Now I am back to where I was perhaps two years ago: not only do I recall the feelings dreams instill within me, but I also remember most of the specifics about the dream. But that is not the most important part.. The most blessed part of it all is that my dreams are communicating to me messages again. Some I miss, but others I do not, and those I do not forget are of great advantage to me.

I love the vague messages dreams transmit to me, usually seeming to hold no importance until I realize it- and then everything is suddenly clear and true.