eptivity

So I’ve never had a nightmare. The problem is that if I am conscious enough to remember it, I am conscious enough to rationalize my way out of its absurdity. Like this one time I had a dream that someone broke into my parents’ house and tried to stab me, only he just repeatedly stabbed me in the leg and all I could think was, “how is that effective?” Or the dream I had last night in which the helicopter my dad was piloting started faltering while we were somewhere off the coast of something and all I could think was, “when did my dad learn to fly a helicopter?”

Kind of like when I was little and would play house with Tony during recess, only when he wanted to pretend that he owned Disney and that all the rocks on the playground were his money, presumably so he could swim around in them à la Scrooge McDuck, I would repeatedly tell him that that would never happen in real life. [Note: A healthy dose of reality which in all probability is true, but which he begrudges to this day and wholly blames for the fact that he does not currently own Disney.]

The point is this: I’m pretty firmly grounded in reality. Except for these two tiny, irrational fears,* which I will now reveal with hopes that you won’t exploit them, dear Internets:

1. That I will be compelled to pick up one of the very sharp Victorinox knives Stephan bought me and lick it for no other reason than that it exists and that this makes no sense in any possible world.

2. That if I leave the shed door open whilst drying clothes after dark, one or more neighborhood squirrels will enter the aforementioned shed unbeknownst to me and then attack me when I unintentionally corner them.

Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.

* Note to Big Brother: Just kidding! I’m so not really afraid of these things!