Strange glass dreams? (really, it's horrible)

I've been having some strange dreams about glass lately, and I'm not sure what they're supposed to mean. The first one was awhile ago, maybe a month, but it's one of those dreams that you remember your whole entire life. I'll give you a super brief rundown.

I was somewhere unimportant. Someone dropped a glass pitcher, or a pile of glasses, or something that involved a large amount of glass.
I know the physics here don't make any sense, but clearly this dream was going to be a little messed up from the start.
I ended up with all of that glass in my mouth. It was all in my gums, and stuck in my teeth, and basically my entire mouth was full of glass. I couldn't breathe, or swallow, because then I would have glass inside my body.

OZ, that awesome TV show I shouldn't have been watching as a kid, taught me that that will kill you in short order, and in a horrible manner.

I don't quite remember how it ended, just with me trying to get the glass out of my mouth. And it was horrible. A few days later, at work, (I work as a server at The Keg). Someone dropped a wine glass in front of me. It shattered, and glass went flying towards my face It was everything I could do not to scream like a girl and go cry in a corner.

I prefer plastic cups now.

Fast forward to last night. (make the noise in your head). I couldn't sleep, so I decided to drink some neo-citran. For those not in the know, neo-citran is stuff you take when your sick and congested. It clears you up, and has enough medication to make you sleep like a baby. Even though it expressly says to keep away from babies.

I tend not to take things to help me sleep because I react badly to them. This ended up being no exception. I ended up laying in bed twitching like a recovering heroin addict all night, cursing the awful decision that led to me still being awake at 9:30 am. I guess the next 20 minutes would be a slight relief in one sense, as they were the only sleep I ended up getting last night.
On the other hand, it was one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had, and I'm pretty sure you can end up classifying it as a nightmare.

I'm not going to go through the whole thing, since anyone who's actually reading this is probably at least a little like me, and has the attention span of a fruit fly. So, brief rundown:

I was homeless, apparently by choice. I was living in a train car, in a train yard. There were lots of other homeless people there, they were all about my age. Things were actually pretty good, for you know, being a drifter with no source of income or way to feed myself regularly.

Anyways, one of these people was crazy. I know, right? A crazy homeless person? Caught me off guard too.By the end of the dream, this person had gone completely bat-shit insane and started throwing Molotov cocktails.

Again, I know this isn't how physics, or Molotov cocktails work, but this is what happened. I got hit in the head with one, and instead of exploding and setting my body ablaze in a fiery demise, it sort of melted all over my
head.

So in my hair, I had all this awful burning melted glass. And I tried to scoop it off, but it was too viscous. So it hardened, and I had this glass stuff stuck all over my head, and it was mighty uncomfortable. I couldn't cut my hair, or get it off. It just stayed there for the rest of my homeless days, I guess.

I don't know why I keep having these awful dreams about glass, but I'm pretty sure it's a sign that I should be going back to sippy cups.

My New Diet

I've been sick for three days now. That doesn't sound all that bad, but for three days, I haven't eaten, or slept.

I've spent the majority of the time with my porcelain beauty.
She's cold. . but she takes my crap. Clever, I know. I could do this all day.

But I won't do this all day, because I'm looking for a way to positively market my illness as an effective weight-loss diet.

"A full body cleansing, in just three days!"
"Weight Loss Guaranteed! And it's less invasive than liposuction!"
"Eat what you want, when you want!"* (*No guarantees of retaining food)

I'll leave the rest up to your imaginations. If you're a marketing guru, message me. We can make this work.

(Properly) Reasons Why I'm Not Actually Adequately Sane

I've never had a blog before. Which is surprising, considering how much I love forcing my views on other people. It's easy when they're this simple:
Eat as much grilled cheese as you can, without hurting others.
I don't know anyone that doesn't agree with that. Unless that other person is between you and more grilled cheese. Then that fucker gets what's comin.

But yeah, the part about the sanity. . my parents, they're wonderful people. They raised me right, gave me a great moral code, and supported me every step of the way. Both when I needed it, and when I was too proud to ask.

My issue with my parents is, I don't know how much of my life is a lie. I guess they were planning on having more than one baby, so it was ok if they fucked with the first one a little bit.

When I was a toddler, my favorite food in the entire world was Graham Crackers. I loved them. That shit was Ambrosia. Sent to right any wrong, they could fix anything.

So, seeing an opportunity to fuck with me, my parents taught me they were called brain surgery. So, for awhile, would ask them for brain surgery, and they would give me graham crackers. When I say awhile, I mean two and a half years. Until I started school.

So flash forward to my first day of kindergarten. I can't say I remember it perfectly, but I imagine it went something like this:

Little Josh Francis is playing in the sandbox, making castles and holes, because really there isn't much to do in a sandbox. Everything is going really well, and every single person there thinks I'm awesome and pretty much the coolest kid in the school.

Then snack time rolls around, and I start asking everyone for brain surgery. Cue the phone calls home with "concerns". (That last part actually happened. I wish it was recorded)

And that was just one thing. I was also taught the lines on the road were made out of cheese. I mean, I wasn't allowed to play on the road for obvious reasons, so how would I know better?

They also forgot my first birthday. I don't know where that rates on the baby-trauma scale, but I'm betting pretty high.

I'm terrified every day of my life that something else I have always believed to be true is going to end up being a lie.

(Formerly) Reasons Why I'm Actually Not Adequately Sane.

 I just typed a fantastic first post. I mean, it was perfect. It had wit, charm,  humour. . . my god, fans would have flocked. It was a great story about my childhood. It played your emotions like a cheap fiddle.

So I was just editing it, and I was hitting Command-Z to undo. I un-did one too many times, so I hit Command-R, to redo. Not clicking in that on my browser, that would REFRESH.

So now my awesome first post is lost forever. It will now end up being a less fantastic and less inspired second or third post.

Sigh.