Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

#618: OH, TO SLEEP WITHOUT DREAMING

Last night, I dreamt that I smelled bad, and then there was this body that some other person and I were lugging from room to room, and a bat-like evil spirit entity kept flapping up near the ceiling. Also, that koala baby I am a mother to in half my dreams these days was hungry, but my breasts just wouldn't produce any more milk. That damned koala baby mewled woefully, but I was cold, I tell you, cold, because that damned thing had better grow up soon. Cute only works on me for so long, and then even some dream koala baby in the throes of starvation is gonna get his.

What I mean to convey is that I did not sleep well again last night, which was approximately my twentieth night like that. This has to stop soon, because my brain is starting to mess up its translation of basic reality, which, if you're me, strikes the fear of sanity loss into your heart. I've gone to the far left of gonzo before, and it was not pretty, folks, let me tell you.

I was eating lunch just now, and each time I applied a little sauce to my next bite, I thought that something smelled fishy. This had me worried about how fresh my food was, because I associate a fishy smell with rot and food poisoning. I decided to go through a few more mouthfuls, because I am kind of stuffed up and can't smell properly at the moment. It became clear to me that my lunch was indeed smelling rather fishy, so I put down my fork and contemplated how necessary it might be to force myself to vomit in the bathroom here at work.

And then, get this:
I turned to look disdainfully at my possibly poisonous lunch, because I was still hungry, and it was maybe trying to kill me. Upon really looking at it, though, I realized why it smelled fishy. I WAS EATING FISH.

If it tastes like fish and it smells like fish, it probably is fish, but my brain can't add one and one anymore, apparently.

On the one hand, I am relieved to know that my lunch won't kill me, but on the other hand, I have to live with the fact that I ordered, paid for, and ate half my lunch before I even realized what kind of food I was consuming.

Oh lawd, I'm glad it's the end of my work week.

Before I finish out my work day and then go drink beer in an attempt to kill off whatever brain cells are causing my overactive dream life, I have to share something with you. If you took my dreams and my lunch and mashed them together, you would get something very close to the following video. It's almost like chocolate and peanut butter.