Dream

There was some loud bang and a flash of light, then my family panicked and started to fly toward one end of the house. I was on the floor, flinching, getting ready for the impact. Something, I knew, was about to hit me. Hard.

I managed to pull off one of the toughest feats out there - wake myself up when I know I'm having a bad dream.

So I woke up, and was thankful. Then I remembered, "Oh yeah, I have some horrible virus that makes me feel like shit. Like my head is being squeezed my some greater power. And that my body is sore as hell. All of it. I don't know if it's the virus or the baseball game I pitched yesterday. The one where I got my ass kicked and the next day (today) I felt like a I had been run over by a bunch of wild horses.

And now the TV is on, it's Hitchcock theater. He's funny in a sort of creepy kind of way. Earlier I was watching infomercials, which, oddly enough, I like. The latest one was about a company that would change my life by combining the Internet with the hottest trend in travel: Relationship Networking.

I watch and wonder who else is watching, jotting down the number or the website, like I am. Except I'm doing it as research. I will go from start to end on one (or several) of these things and will either a)Make a ton of money because part of me, deep down, thinks that maybe I can. It's a scam, of course, but since I'm better than all these other suckers out there, I'm doing research for god's sake, because I'm better I could do it. Or b) It doesn't work out, which is more likely, and I will have a great story to sell to Esquire magazine, which will mark my coming out party into the world of getting paid for writing super interesting stories that no one else could've written.

And then it hits me: While what I'm writing right now probably sounds pretty good, I know it's straight out of A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which I just read and liked a lot and wish I had a story like that to tell (but not really, how horrible!).

My favorite parts having to do with how, before he does something in his life, something that would be a good, nice thing to do for someone (save his suicidal friend's life, scatter his mother's ashes in Lake Michigan, stuff like that (I know, he's got some good ones)), he first thinks about how he could use it for a book he wants to write. And he admits how guilty and horrible he feels, but it still doesn't stop him from taking his little notebook with him (and tape recorder, which I did for a while, I didn't like the sound of my voice). And I like that because I understand it, and I admire the honesty in admitting the whole thing.

And now I'm going to go watch a movie called Noi the Albino, and hopefully it'll be good.

Good Night.