Many have drawn the conclusion that my blog is a useless heap of smelly poo, and that recently, it has only been about my sexual frustrations (save the late picture of Wesley Crusher). Well, I suppose that it depends what kind of theory you are bringing with you to the field and apply to your observations. If you are somewhat Freudian, most things can be tracked down to coitus, if you put in the effort. Alas a friend of mine recently discovered that "everything’s about sex", and when I told her that it was probably what she was all about, she knew I was hitting on her. I guess that my food poisoning then is all tub girl-related. Serious issues.
But no. This is a very serious blog for very, very, serious people who come here to think deep thoughts. So deep, in fact, that they can feel the smell of pubic hair in ’em. And that’s what a good life’s about isn’t it? Serious thoughts, serious as flint and bricks, innit? So serious that if you licked ’em your tongue would grow hair.
And no, the guy in the picture is not me.
Anyway, I had a dream this morning about two tall apartment buildings and I was observing two of the windows in either building from a non-existing point of view. In one of them was a pretty naked girl lying on her bed playing with her feet up against the wall, and in the other was my self lying in my bed dressed as a nurse –!
Not true. I wasn’t really dressed as a nurse, just checking if you’re still paying attention to my story. So I was lying over there, and she was lying over there, and we was both on our cellphones talking to each other. I asked her bluntly if she’d like me to come over and come all over her. She avoided the question by asking what I could see from my apartment. I told her that I saw her thighs, her hand fondling with her torso, and her black panties, yes, I distinctly saw the black panties. Then she told me that she wasn’t wearing any.
So you see there was no sex in my dream.
My current desktop@work
As for my food poisoning, I have written down my featured feverish dreams which are way too weird to be posting up here. Instead, you can head over to my infamous scratch book which is my online notepad/waste basket at blogspot dot com. I will be posting it there as soon as I’m finished typing it. Just look for the title: Plus des temps; the joys of food on dreams OR Sunday Steampunk Dreaming. Today I’ve had waffles & cake, a half-erotic dream and a friend who called me to tell they were having a riot at the mental asylum where she works. Have a nice weekend!