Hello, hello, hello...

This entry is coming to you Live from (downtown?) Long Beach, not far from where the Gran Prix will be taking place at some point in the near future.

My surroundings are...interesting. There are papers piled everywhere, rogue CD's stacked about, books no matter where you turn, a stack of Pappa John's pizza boxes taller than my niece, and cigarette ash as far as the eye can see.

This is definitely a writer's apartment.

I'm almost inspired just sitting here. Were I better at this sort of thing, I would be. Even the vile scent of coffee adds to the atmosphere, though that's someone balanced by the detraction of the dead xmas tree by the door. (Less books,
cheaper, older electonic equipment, and a gun would make it a private detective's apartment.)

I like it.

Onward...

So, my dreams have been..."scary," lately. A couple nights ago, my brain decided to indulge itself in a chase scenario. I'm not sure why, because while the sense of urgency and even sometimes an increased heart-rate are there, my brain can't maintain them. The dream always crumbles under it's own weight and either changes to something else or ends. This past evening, I somehow managed to find myself in a situation where, were it real life, I would be horrified to the point of heart attack and death. In the dream, however, it was just really really really really disturbing. It was, however, disturbing enough so that the better part of me decided it wasn't playing this fucking game anymore and mildy guided me towards waking up. Oddly, I'm rarely willing to give up the dream state so easily, so I tried to grab a few more z's. While successful, it didn't really produce anything worthy of the noun "dream." Still, at least I got some decent sleep.

Hm? Oh, the disturbing situation. Yeah. Insects. Everywhere.