The furry claws of your dank subconscious...
...beat the living hell out of me last night. And I haven't even started the chapter on Freud! (Or would that be Jung?)
After a fitful night involving a horrifying dream about a tongue-ectomy- and the subsequent trauma of trying to retrieve my tongue*
I woke up with a stiff neck so wretched I can hardly turn my head to the left, and mental imagery so foul that it'll take hours of Playstation 2 to erase.
I think the worst part was that it all seemed ... merely inconvenient in the dream. Don't ask me what I thought I was going to do after I caught the damn thing - and only now, in waking life, does the full horror of it come to me.
(*By the way, did you know that in dreams, retrieved tongue tastes faintly of crunchy, oniony coleslaw? Yeah, I hate me too.)





You know, a guy like me, being married to the love of my life and whatnot, really should not be having certain things running through my head after reading this post.
(So to where should I return the tongue when I'm done with it?)
-- by
Chris Clarke, at
9/11/2005 1:55 PM