You disagree? Well, that’s fine. That’s alright. We can have different opinions. It’s cool.
I just have an excess of…you know…anger.

But I’m alright. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just a mind that fluctuates between ashes and melting the skull it’s housed in. It’s fine.

Yeah. It’s good.

But let us step away from that.
I had a dream about that ocean. I was walking on a bridge across it. Trying to outwalk the storm on this bridge that wasn’t a rickety bridge, but a wooden plank pathway that was very steady, raised slightly above the water so that waves sloshed over it now and then.

There was a coffee shop off to the side of the bridge. On the ocean. It was owned by an evil wizard with bushy eyebrows and a pointy hat. The whole nine yards. He served cupcakes with honey that were supposed to be very good.
But he was trying to capture me. (They always are.)

I had to sneak into his shop and steal a magic carpet so I could fly off and get out of the path of the storm. I got the carpet, but at that point, it was already raining those giant, cold drops of rain that hurt when they hit you…

There is a girl at work that I think I will have to make an effort to talk to more often. I already liked talking to her (we have an ongoing, ridiculous pretense of being holograms or androids when we talk to each other…don’t ask), but somehow we got onto the subject of dreams and I before I could get to the odd part of the one in my last post, she asked me if it was a head on the tray.

She has epic dreams about zombies, too.
I’m saddened that I’m not “allowed” to be friends with her. It’s not that often I actually believe I would enjoy hanging out with someone.

But…it made up a little for having certain coworkers decide they can check “make out with” Reeser off their bucket lists (yellow light?), since they kept drinking out of my drink all evening and annoying me (red light?). Our entire management team is going to come down with mono or something awful. 😡

I think now I will go eat my food, then write some. Maybe a story type writing. The story wherein I feed this thing to the monster and don’t know how to feel about it so it looks like I did it on purpose. It was an accident. It was.