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10:15 a.m. - July 23, 2002
Pass the menstruation symbolism, please
Lately my dreams have become more vivid in their color and violent in their content. Last night I dreamed about floes of blood from a crazed lunatic who repeatedly stabbed herself or bit off her fingers while chasing me in and out of the student union building, and this blood--thick and vibrant red, yet also iridescent--splashed up against the doors and windows of the building and I couldn't escape, constantly finding myself crossing paths with this woman. When I closed my eyes I'd find myself in an old dorm room with my old roommate Ross with rotten teeth and blood that dripped off this tongue and the feeling I recall is queasiness, as if I was on a lopsided merry-go-round and the odors were powerful and came in waves and try as hard to wake myself up, I couldn't, and again would encounter the woman in thea building whose walls looked like bloody sides of beef as seen subdermally with veins and bones and ligaments scattered haphazardly. The blood was viscous and clammy as it covered my feet, and that's when I woke up.

Dream Analysis 101, anyone?

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It's payday.

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Example 22 of Why Jason's A Dick:

I have two T.A.s contracted to work with me 20 hours per week each and part of their duties include gathering research for me, which may be checking up on references, compiling and double-checking the bibliographies, xeroxing articles, printing off microfilmed dissertations. Truly, neither impossible or inhuman as long as my specific idiosyncracies are followed; Friendly Boob T.A. printed off a 240-page dissertation for me yesterday and didn't micro-size the print, so that it's blown up and annoys me. I asked her to redo it, claiming I spilled coffee on the original work. She took it personally, even if I shielded her from the blunt truth: She did it wrong. It's these kinds of things where dickishness truly comes out.

Sigh.

OK, I'm off to another lecture.

I'm excited, can't you tell?

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Sign my guestbook.

 

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