Is anyone good at dream analysis? Tackle this one?

It only carried my weight well, but everyone needed a ride. Problem was, I needed to turn it in for an assignment or I got zero credit for this amazing machine that ran on just a half a cup of water.

I attached the machine to a mattress and it floated, but then two people I didn’t even know jumped on, and the machine flew low to the ground, impossibly slow, and rolled. I hung on to the twin mattress as it barrel rolled, sliding the surfer dude and the cranky old man onto the soft grass, and the mattress rose from two feet off the ground and back into the sky.

The extra weight, though, used the water. Once again, I landed and refilled the cup at my father’s new house, somehow alive, young, and well in this really weird world of my creation. He willingly gave me the cup of water and advice to hurry. I set off again, but my mother needed me for something. I couldn’t ignore my mother; time was running short, but I couldn’t ignore my mother. She showed me some pictures, and asked me if I remembered the people in them. I remember wanting to tell her I didn’t have time for it, but I didn’t.

Airborne again, things went well, but in order to refuel, I landed at a friendly appearing but very weird occult monastery. In order to receive my water, I had to go through the purification ritual. Because I was an outsider, I wore off-white lace head covering and not the gold of the believers. The water I needed dripped from the hands of Banaeta, the priestess to whom I had to swear allegiance in order to obtain my water. I went along with it, until she looked me in the eyes and I realized no one’s eyes ever were so kind, and she couldn’t be real. I dipped my cup in the water before she stuck her hand in it, threw my head covering at her and ran. The mattress rose while arrows flew. The mattress stopped them all, but I felt the points as they nudged my thighs, they came so close to penetrating the mattress. With a deadline ever looming, I shot out of the high-walled compound and kept on to my destination.

The cup ran low. I had to think. Landing the mattress meant the arrows protruding through all the way, so I let the mattress hover just off the ground, grabbed the apparatus and sprang off. I looked back, where 20 arrowheads pierced through the mattress in the perfect shape of my body.

Apparatus in hand, I ran to the nearest house, looking for another mattress. The cup dropped out of my hands, but, empty as it was, I just put the top back on and kept going.

The mattresses were bound for another state, the family said, as they were moving. I’m not sure what I ended up with, or how it came to my possession, but I think it was something between a pup tent and a vinyl formal bag. I sat up in it and I fit, but nothing more, except for a gun and a compass. The owner handed me the gun. He didn’t need it anymore, but I might. He said he appreciated good students.

Yeah. Heh.

I tried to leave, but my grandmother stood there, getting dressed. She puttered around in a camisole and polyester pants, looking for her shirt. I gave her mine, which left me in a camisole, and then searched the near-empty house for something to fit me.

I ended up in the Middle East. I wanted to but didn’t have time to go to the beach, but ran into a local gentleman, who voluntarily (time consumption on my mind) pointed out the finer aspects of some Byzantine wonder. An old man wanted transported. He said he was ready to die. My bag wouldn’t hold him, and his wife begged me to use the gun and kill him. I didn’t have time to transport him, he wouldn’t fit, and I wouldn’t kill him. Wouldn’t you know, the gun came with a stun setting. His wife got mad when I stunned him. She wanted him gone, you see. I shoot to stun, not kill, I told her. She wouldn’t even fill my water cup. All I needed was half!

I got the water a camel watering hole. The local gentleman helped me find it.

I couldn’t stop at the beach, but I could fly over it. I made it to my destination, but I had to register my flying wonder with the school. The clock passed 2:00 p.m., the deadline, while I stood in line.

I failed, and my clothes didn’t match. I ended up in hounds tooth polyester pants. Dunno if I swapped more with Grandma than I should have. I don’t remember.

I rarely have flying dreams, and if I do have them, I rarely get off the ground. The only thing I can think of is, despite wanting to pass the class, I didn’t take desperate measures. I could’ve sold my soul, I could’ve killed for that cup of water, and I could’ve left my grandmother cold.

Or maybe, with the recent events in my life, my subconscious is telling me that I’m too nice and that’s why I never reach my goals. Maybe.

If anyone else has other ideas, I’d love to hear them.

Is there a better word for sucks? Bites? Blows?

12/17/08, 8:55 p.m.

I just love being in limbo.

I’m so tired of being emotionally broadsided. You know, if the same opportunity were given to me, I think I’d like to try it, but I know myself better. I know it would hurt me in the end and make me a worse person than I already am, apparently.

The surgical center still hasn’t let me officially know if I am or am not still their transcriptionist. Therefore, I will call into the system and take the work off until I hear differently, but mostly so I can see if there’s a nice little "don’t let the door hit you on the way out" message after I take off the last procedure note or history and physical. I’ve typed for them several days now in that fashion. I’ve left messages and e-mails; no one wants to talk to me, but
I guess I’d know as soon as they find someone else?

I’m so tired. When I’m this stressed out, I can sleep, believe it or not. That’s what I’ve been doing. I suppose it’s better than drinking all the Captain Morgan I can and then waking up with a hangover.

So, BC is done for tonight. They’ve received it well before they need it, just like I told them. Just bumping them up instead of juggling my schedule around fixes the entire problem. I’d like the peace of mind, but I guess that’s not to be. I wouldn’t know what true peace of mind felt like anyway in my world.

LOL, what timing. Just got a phone call, a 90-second survey on how people like their jobs. I hung up. I truly don’t know. The Good Company is very happy with me. They tell me often. It just guts me because this goofup could my reputation on this side of the river. This affects the center and two different physicians’ offices. I’ve been stained, and I’ve done nothing other than have a house fire and not been told that work needed to be there before a certain time. I’d never had a turn-in time before.

I actually considered retail last night, not solely for some money, but to get out of this house and interact with adult humanoids. I’m so friendly and I work hard. I don’t like to be bored. I don’t have the money to go back and get my license restored for nursing (I didn’t renew it properly and found out five months afterward the cut-off date).

Yeah.

12:28 a.m.

Nothing new to report; I just want my mommy, but I don’t think it’s actually the person, but the concept, putting your head on someone’s shoulder and just having her hold you up while you struggle through. I remember sitting outside an ER room with her that way once. I had a fever of 103 degrees, my chest rattled, and I was 17 years old, my head resting on my mom’s shoulder. She couldn’t do anything but that, and I know now how helpless she felt. I slept there. I remember thinking then how much that meant to me. I’m sure she’d do it if I really needed to, but...it’s snowing, my feet are freezing already, she’s in bed, and wouldn’t really care for my cold feet and smoke-scented clothing. I don’t, either, so I can’t blame her. Still, right now, I’d love to have someone to lean on, even just symbolically.

5:20 a.m.

I talked to Stud. I think I should e-mail big daddy D about where, exactly, I stand with the transcription for him, but Stud thinks I should find something else. I know a couple of people to call. If I can keep my head clear enough after getting the kids off to school, I know who I’m calling first. Another surgical center offered me their stuff, but I couldn’t take it back then, and I probably can’t handle the full load of that larger place anyway, but maybe they’ve found a transcriptionist who wants a little help or vacation coverage. Lord knows I don’t have any plans. Funny. I keep thinking I need to e-mail B.C. to see what their holiday schedule is; I don’t want to.

Criminy. Shit, fuzzy fuck. I’m outta work; I guess I’ll go take on terrorism (writing) for a while.