Today I've tried to spell "Tuesday" as "Tuzday" about five times and counting...
Y'know what? I don't think I've had a reasonable night's sleep in about two weeks. It's starting to get to me.
It doesn't matter if I go to bed early, or do everything I can think of to tire myself out completely before laying down. No. I end up laying there, wriggling around in an attempt to find a position that is actually comfortable while my body screams at me that this is not going to work, OK? before eventually managing to pass out.
For awhile. Before the nightmares start.
I've always been a dreamer. I can still remember some of my "favorite" dreams from when I was young--for instance, the time I dreamt that I was Thumbelina, living in a giant mushroom on a hill, and was very, very upset that my evil stepmother wouldn't let me go to the ball at the even bigger mushroom the next hill over.
My dreams range from downright silly, to "nightmares" that aren't at all scary in reality, to this.
You see, lately I've been dreaming about my teeth falling out, rotting away, or otherwise being broken. There's this theory that when you dream about this you're actually worried about your health--which I am, honestly, but I've been taking measures to correct that (occasional sake nights aside).
The nightmares persist.
Sometimes I can be a very superstitious person. I think that goes hand in hand with being pagan. To this day I knock on wood when I say things that might "jinx" me if a faerie hears them, though I know realistically that 90% of what surrounds me is not real wood, much less living wood, and so even if I really believed in faeries there probably wouldn't be any there to hear me anyway. (Amusingly, I've also got my coworkers doing it now, too, though I think that might be their way of teasing me.)
What my superstitious self is now telling me is that the dreams are prophetic. Something Very Bad is on the horizon, and it's going to get me. This does not help.
Fortunately, there is also a logical side of myself which is calling shenanigans on Little Miss Superstitious.
Waiting for one's own demise is not going to help solve matters, argues Little Miss Logical. There must be a reason for this happening, and a way to fix it. Unfortunately, Little Miss Logical seems to thrive on getting some god damn sleep, and thusly is fading as fast as I am.
So last night, I dreamt of being stuck in a Dating-Sim-slash-Action-Adventure-slash-Yu-Gi-Oh style video game wherein my character is some kind of bad ass, dread-locked goth chick sex-fighting (yes, seriously. It was like that scene in Mr. and Mrs. Smith where they're all making out in the middle of a fight. Don't ask me how that works; I don't know) this really, really hot latino guy whose player was this other chic friend of mine, and somehow that dissolved into my teeth rotting out into tiny little nubs of themselves and causing me drastic amounts of pain any time I moved my jaw, while my grandmother lectured me about how it's all my fault that I don't have dental insurance.
There's a troll in the dungeon, and I think it might be me.
