23 March 2003
Have you ever had one of those days when everything goes hideously, nightmarishly wrong? Where you go to school only to face questions barked by threatening teachers who you can’t answer, two thirty-page tests due in two hours that you can’t complete but can’t justify not doing, and your parents quietly tagging along behind you to witness your self-destruction? And then you go home and find out that all your friends think you suck? And that your boyfriend hates you? And then there’s an electrical short that sets the trashcan on fire and everything you own goes up in flames?
I usually wake up from these occasional dreams thinking that phew, it wasn’t real, and my life doesn’t suck at all compared to what I just imagined I went through. Still, I wish that my subconscious would find slightly less distressing ways of pumping up my ego. This is the kind of soul-shaking content that should make its way into a massively grotesque, allegorical work of fiction, and it seems kind of wasted when prompting me to do laundry, answer email, and read a few pages.