7/19/03
Directly from waking to notepad... elements escaped my brain even as I typed it.
I dreamt that I was back home at the house in Boynton Beach. I was in the guest bathroom, seated on the john (well, on the top of the lid), and was pressing different tiles in sequence, like a typewriter. As a result, a paper came out with a bunch of medical history, mentioning that my brain and spine had been transplanted into another baby when I was just born. No reason was given, but it did make mention of refastening the new skull with care "using baby-blue, strength 4x." This angered me a little, as I wondered why nobody had told me, and was concerned as to what had happened to my host-baby's previous brain and cord. Were they swapped out? Discarded? I hit another set of tile-keys and spun the paper-roll, and the medical report was plucked from my hands and returned to wherever bathroom medical reports filing systems took it. I went to the living room to confront my family, and it turned out that my mother was cutting my brother's hair in the back yard, and had left the screen door open. Newt had just gotten out and I walked over there and swept him up into my arms, while I proceeded to berate those outside for leaving the door open and letting him escape into a cruel and car-filled outdoors. They were fairly apathetic about the whole thing, saying basically "He's yours, it's your responsibility to keep an eye on him, no matter what stupid things we do to endanger his life." Too disgusted to even ask about my transplant at that point, I headed back to my bedroom, while I overhear my sweetheart talking on the phone trying to raise money. I knock on the door of the room where she's on the phone; she hangs up and starts playing with Newtie while I ask her what's wrong and if she would like a loan. Though she sounded a little upset, she said that it was nothing and not to worry about it... I showed her a small stash of cash on the bookshelf, and mentioned that she could have all of it if needed, but she turned it down, and scolded me for keeping large sums of cash outside of a bank. I agreed and we hopped in her car to do deposit the bulk of it someplace.
Then I woke up.
The end.
I should note that I woke up from the aforementioned dream with no anger, tension or general confusion, but the thick, wispy strands of the brain-movie were quite memorable. I're *really* glad I don't live at my mother's house anymore, and I didn't get Newt until well over a decade of being out on my own.
This came up yesterday, talking to Ray about the Bottle city of Kandor, and the Superman Emergency Squad.
Archives of "The Parking Lot is Full" from the UA mailing list.
Read Classic cheesy Superman Comics online (along with a spiffy encyclopedia of supes articles, too)
1 year ago - caving dreams, piracy, anagram server, no-longer newt-time icon, irrational deodorant mixing fear, fun hidden camera show, monopoly variants, true porn clerk stories, phobias, paperback cover gallery, 100 years of jell-o ads, missing scary link pic
2 years ago - carom, evil news, fave monopoly token poll, rude awakening, OTR, impressed with flash, and feelin' romantic
Home is where the heart is.
If I had something like that, I'd fairly demand that I be allowed to keep it in a jar. How fantastic would it be to have someone ask "Where'd you get that?" "I was born with it."
Directly from waking to notepad... elements escaped my brain even as I typed it.
I dreamt that I was back home at the house in Boynton Beach. I was in the guest bathroom, seated on the john (well, on the top of the lid), and was pressing different tiles in sequence, like a typewriter. As a result, a paper came out with a bunch of medical history, mentioning that my brain and spine had been transplanted into another baby when I was just born. No reason was given, but it did make mention of refastening the new skull with care "using baby-blue, strength 4x." This angered me a little, as I wondered why nobody had told me, and was concerned as to what had happened to my host-baby's previous brain and cord. Were they swapped out? Discarded? I hit another set of tile-keys and spun the paper-roll, and the medical report was plucked from my hands and returned to wherever bathroom medical reports filing systems took it. I went to the living room to confront my family, and it turned out that my mother was cutting my brother's hair in the back yard, and had left the screen door open. Newt had just gotten out and I walked over there and swept him up into my arms, while I proceeded to berate those outside for leaving the door open and letting him escape into a cruel and car-filled outdoors. They were fairly apathetic about the whole thing, saying basically "He's yours, it's your responsibility to keep an eye on him, no matter what stupid things we do to endanger his life." Too disgusted to even ask about my transplant at that point, I headed back to my bedroom, while I overhear my sweetheart talking on the phone trying to raise money. I knock on the door of the room where she's on the phone; she hangs up and starts playing with Newtie while I ask her what's wrong and if she would like a loan. Though she sounded a little upset, she said that it was nothing and not to worry about it... I showed her a small stash of cash on the bookshelf, and mentioned that she could have all of it if needed, but she turned it down, and scolded me for keeping large sums of cash outside of a bank. I agreed and we hopped in her car to do deposit the bulk of it someplace.
Then I woke up.
The end.
I should note that I woke up from the aforementioned dream with no anger, tension or general confusion, but the thick, wispy strands of the brain-movie were quite memorable. I're *really* glad I don't live at my mother's house anymore, and I didn't get Newt until well over a decade of being out on my own.
This came up yesterday, talking to Ray about the Bottle city of Kandor, and the Superman Emergency Squad.
Archives of "The Parking Lot is Full" from the UA mailing list.
Read Classic cheesy Superman Comics online (along with a spiffy encyclopedia of supes articles, too)
1 year ago - caving dreams, piracy, anagram server, no-longer newt-time icon, irrational deodorant mixing fear, fun hidden camera show, monopoly variants, true porn clerk stories, phobias, paperback cover gallery, 100 years of jell-o ads, missing scary link pic
2 years ago - carom, evil news, fave monopoly token poll, rude awakening, OTR, impressed with flash, and feelin' romantic
Home is where the heart is.
Twelve-year-old Shane Bowman plays with his old heart in Edmonton, Canada on Friday, July 11, 2003. Bowman had a heart transplant and got a chance to see his old heart to have some closure on his illness. Bowman had dialated cardiomyopathy, a condition caused by a virus, and his heart was enlarged to about 555 grams. A normal heart is about 200 grams. (AP Photo/CP/Edmonton Sun, Perry Mah)
If I had something like that, I'd fairly demand that I be allowed to keep it in a jar. How fantastic would it be to have someone ask "Where'd you get that?" "I was born with it."
posted by Scottobear at
2:44:00 PM
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