Howdy, y'all. How's it hanging? Yeah? Great!
Anyway, to business!
I had a dream the other night about Joffrey (from Game of Thrones, as if you
needed telling) showing up at my work and trying to drive the wagon. He crashed
it, and then started threatening people with a sword, so I had a swordfight
with him. I wasn't trying to hurt him; I just waited for him to tire himself
out and then I talked him round from his tantrum and convinced him that instead
of throwing his weight around he would get on in life much better by asking for
help. I promised to teach him to drive the wagon, and he threw away his sword.
Now, first things first, I can't drive the wagon. I can't drive a car, so I'm
not going near that big fucker.
Second things second, there is no way in Hell I'm getting involved in a
swordfight. That's not how being a quivering coward works.
And third things third, my subconscious mind clearly doesn't understand Game of
Thrones, because Joffrey is a fucking sociopath and no amount of calm talk from
me is gonna convince him to do anything but chop my bloody head off.
All of that aside though, the thing I took away from that dream is that my life
is really fucking dull.
Think about it. My dreams; the subconscious minds sorting and cataloguing of
the days issues and events, considered that the most important things we needed
to discuss were my job, and a TV show.
It wouldn't be so bad if it was a one time occurrence but having it
happen every night, or at least every night that I retain anything from
my dreams, is just pouring salt in the wound. The most recent dream
that I can recall, for instance, involved my giving marriage
counselling advice to famous screen couples; in the warehouse at work,
of course; and then someone coming in and looking for ice creams, so I
had to help them find what they wanted in the big supermarket style
chest freezers that we had apparently had installed in our shed for
storing bags of plaster and sheets of plywood.
Now, this last one at least had the excitement of the ice cream hunt,
but for the most part it was still people from TV shows turning up at
my work. As if there is nothing more to my life than that.
Sadly of course, there isn't; TV and work really do account for
something like 90% of my waking life. I'm no great expert on these
things, but I'm pretty sure there should be more than that. Right? I
mean, I have acquaintances; not friends, never that; and they all seem
to have things that they do... playing football, running, gong out to
get drunk and cheat on their partners...
I'm not unhappy in my life. I'm not saying I'm happy either; I don't really do happy; but it's not like I'm in some fog of crippling despair. I just have moments sometimes when the
utter pointless blandness of my existence is brought into sharp relief
and I face the chilling realisation that I don't really affect the
world in the slightest. The day after I die, I'll be forgotten.
There's a cheery little bit of waffle for you. Come back next week when I'll talk about dead pets and serial killer victims.
