I got up at 6AM this morning, fully intending on going to the gym for a good cardio workout. There it was, though, sitting on top of the clock, and I thought to myself, "One little hit... what can it hurt, right?"
At 7:50 I finally pulled myself out of my stupor to get ready for work.
It's not even the comfy bed that keeps me going back to the button again and again.
It's those damn 9 minute dreams. I can't let them go. They're so vivid, and so realistic. They can be soothing and infuriating. They let me dance the gamut of emotions and feelings that I don't get to in my every day life. I can be in love. I can be in pain. I can be scared. I can be in control.
- * I was on MAD TV. I was one of the general cast, but was only watching a series of sketches about how throughout the ages, Andre The Giant was a sex toy to so many people. It was funny, not dirty.
* I was riding with my parents in their 1971 Blazer (the one they had until I was 16). My dad was having fits because of something, and I actually managed to calm him down by pointing out all the cool new gadgets we'd installed on the truck.
* I learned to play this ancient Aztec game called MOLA. Don't ask me how to play it now, but it was cool, and it was going to be ALL the rage.
There were more, but they're slowly fading like smoke after the 4th of July fireworks. It was a struggle to remember these.
I got out of bed every 9 minutes (give or take) for almost two hours this morning. At 6AM I was ready to start my day. By 8, I felt like I'd been run over by a semi.
I think I need an intervention.
Everybody loves Andre!