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Weird ********' dreams I say, just weird fu- |
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Yeah, well, I knew they'd come around again sometime. There's one that I vaguely remember. Apparently my family owned this diabolical machine called the "Crusher." I could hold a number of people (Myself, mom, dad, aunt and uncle were present.) and was more like heavy machinery. My dad was driving us around town at night going WAY too fast in my opinion. I remember my mom having a conversation with my aunt about the fact that this is the second one that we'd purchased, since my dad had alreayd wrecked the first one. sweatdrop Well, she should have said this WILL be the second one he's wrecked, because he ended up crashing into the side of the building. No one was injured, thankfully.
After we got home, I was pissed off at my dad (For obvious reasons. I mean, he wrecked the Crusher, again!) and decided to play a video game. It was somewhat like DDR, only more violent. eek The game I chose was "Kick the Children." And I'm not making this up. The object of the game was to kick a certain amount of children before they stopped singing a rhyme. The goal score as I recall was 66. But then my brother decided to help and we ended up with 67 and lost. Now I know why I hate those types of games.
The next one, oddly enough, included a former friend of mine, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley. No idea why. Well, as it seemed, we had all known each other for a long time. And my former friend and I were upset that they were leaving. (To where, I can only imagine.) So we got mad and took a walk together. I had my dog with me, and only God knows why I was carrying all 35 pounds of her around the block! gonk Well, we hadn't even gotten around the corner of the block when I was attacked by another dog. It didn't like poor Sundae. So, what do I do? I do what my ex-friend says. Sit down, turn my back to the dog, and act like a God damn rock. stressed Heck, it worked.
I woke up after that, took a look at the clock and saw that it was just after 6:00 a.m. and went back to sleep. This time, I was going to a sort of survival camp. I was there with all of my friends. And supposedly the instructor was an expert at surviving harsh conditions because he had saved himself from a winter storm by hiding inside an empty oil drum. Oh yeah. That's exactly who I want to learn survival skills from. We were assigned to groups, and he asked us, "What is the first thing you want to do when you become stranded?" Then he went around with a piece of paper and a pen to get peoples' thoughts. No clipboard. No table to write on. So what do we use? His hand. He came to me and I wrote down Find items to build a fire with. Now, this kinda sucked because it wasn't even my handwriting. It was too nice. And for some reason my hands were cold. So when I grabbed his hand to write, his were warm.
It was really kinda nice. My cold hands, his warm ones. >.> <.<; What? It's not like I said that he wasn't handsome! 'Cause in fact he was. The rugged type. rofl Anyway, he then said that my answer was "interesting" and went to the next person. Now, my point here is that I think it's odd when you have feeling in dreams. Like one time I was an assassin of some sort, and when the enemy fired at me, I could feel stinging pain when the bullets grazed me. 'Twas weird, that it was.
Well, good day y'all. I have some fishing ta do. mrgreen
 Einhaender · Wed Jul 12, 2006 @ 09:43pm · 2 Comments |
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