Wasabi ice cream & tarantula nightmares

Pain is wis­dom enter­ing the body.” Damnit all.

This past week­end my for­tunes offi­cial­ly turned for the worst. If being robbed of my inno­cence and $500 in August was­n’t bad enough, then per­haps the root canal in Sep­tem­ber shook my belief in my per­son­al invin­ci­bil­i­ty. But that prob­a­bly was­n’t enough either. The final nail in the cof­fin of my shame­less youth was when a ‘good’ friend of mine wrecked my 87 BMW 325 this past week­end. Sure, it was­n’t an awe­some car, or maybe even a great car. But it was my car, and I got a lot of enjoy­ment out of it. So in addi­tion to feel­ing betrayed by a friend and los­ing a car (and a large amount of cash involved there­in), I feel as though every­thing is about to turn on me and take what I’ve earned with my hard work and appro­pri­ate it for com­plete­ly waste­ful uses. It appears that my well doc­u­ment­ed luck has run out. It would be nice if I was the kind of per­son who could chan­nel every occur­rence good or bad into some­thing musi­cal or artis­tic, but instead I feel like a bot­tle of blues with the cap weld­ed on.

Also, I had a dream that I was very near the south pole, on some sort of float­ing plat­form try­ing to guide a high wing air­plane, prob­a­bly 12 pas­sen­ger tur­bo­prop to land. The plane looked a lot the one that went down recent­ly with the nine sky­divers in it. At any rate, Nick Nolte appeared to be the pilot, and he suc­cess­ful­ly set this plane down on some a piece of wood­en plat­form that could­n’t have been big­ger than 50 feet. I was pret­ty amazed by this, even though he did scrape a wing on the nar­row tun­nel that served as a run­way. I had to jump in the ocean then, and even though we were near the south pole (you don’t have to be a geo­g­ra­ph­er to con­vince me this does­n’t make much sense) I jumped in the ocean and swam to anoth­er part of this mas­sive wood­en plat­form, where there was some sort of par­ty going on. Watch­ing the news every­day real­ly adds a bizarre lay­er to the dream­world. Fac­toids mas­querad­ing as actu­al expe­ri­ences, danc­ing a somat­ic num­ber to what­ev­er else fight­ing to influ­ence my thoughts.

Unre­lat­ed: Two peo­ple behind me just intro­duced them­selves, and there names were George and Martha. That’s fun­ny to me, and small joys in life should be tal­lied and cher­ished.

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