The Wee Small Hours of the Morning
Well, my darlings, it is 5:15 AM on Wednesday, and I find myself here, unable to go back to sleep. Yesterday was not the most stellar day by any regard--I managed to get a few key things done, and I even got to watch some great TV on DVD, but I still ended up going to bed frustrated. It was early, but my eyes were tired. I was having trouble reading and writing, and what else is there to do when you're feeling conflicted? Nothing, that's what. I yanked the covers over me, frowned, and entered a deep slumber.
I had a nightmare.
I dreamt that we were filming this project I'm working on, and we were shooting in my childhood home. It was 6 AM, I hadn't made coffee, and all of a sudden, people started showing up that were not talent or crew. These people, all ones from different parts of the History of Grae, thought they should show up to help. Some were friends from my old job at the theater, one girl was from my high school basketball team, and I recognized another as some actor who played 'Thug #1" on television once.
The Mighty G appeared, complete with strange hair-do and a red shirt that I remember made me uncomfortable. I asked her quickly if she was comfortable getting rid of these yahoos that were quickly filling my kitchen (which, by the way, looked the same as it did pre-remodeling about 13 years ago). She said yes, so I managed to schmooze each one of the kids out except the Thug. I put my hand on his and told him "Listen, I have nothing but respect for you, but this is my fucking house. I don't want to have to mad-dog you." And all of a sudden, my dad was by my side, and he was giggling. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was excited that I had used the phrase "mad-dog," although he didn't know what it meant.
One of the talent looked up and said, "No coffee, and only carrots to eat? This sucks." and I woke up, sick to my stomach.
Here I am, unable to calm down. Flashes of things that have gotten under my skin this week are assaulting me. I cannot manage to ward them off. I think I might go to the 6:45 yoga class at my gym that I am never able to wake up for, but I am concerned that it is too advanced, for I am but a novice. Worry, worry, worry. Nothing comes easy to me when I've had a nightmare.
rest easy. g
posted by HellCat @ 5:13 AM
2 comments
2 Comments:
I'm curious as to the meaning of "mad-dog" because where I come from, to "mad-dog" somebody is to stare at them in a menacing way for an uncomfortably long period of time. I'm assuming this wouldn't be the best way to get somebody to leave your kitchen. . .but then again, maybe you have the kind of stare that can make someone's head explode. If that is the case, my hat is off to you m'lady. You're like firestarter, only more useful.
Yeah, that's my meaning too. I have been told that when I do choose to mad-dog someone, it is incredibly effective. I haven't bust it out in a long time, because, like Derek Zoolander's "Magnum" look, it is breathtaking, and the human mind doesn't have the capacity for laying eyes upon it very often. Rest assured that if I had done it to that guy in the dream, he would have been totally effed.
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