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so i have been scaring the shit outta myself lately with my dreams. i am not much of a dreamer normally (it is the general lack of imagination required for success in academics) but for at least three nights in a row i have had the creepiest dreams EVER.

first there was the romance with the lobster. thankfully, there were no intimate relations. but randomly, he(?) started falling apart about halfway through. i don’t know what you would do when your lobster boyfriend starts to fall apart, but i had visions of butter and garlic dancing in my head, so i saved his pieces to eat later. shut up. you’re a maneater too. so there. ultimately i was left with a pair of googly eyes. surprisingly i don’t actually feel like shellfish lately. maybe i’ll develop an allergy.

then there was the friend betrayal one (you know who you are you hot little minx who eyes t-bone like he is some deliciously slathered crustacean – i’m watching you!). and finally there was the baby-self-delivery i performed. creepy, no? i remember the labour feeling like having cotton balls stuffed in my stomach which i ultimately pulled out of stomach (apparently i am five years old and still have no idea where babies come from). it was most disturbing because instead of being covered in placenta, i think the baby was covered in whatever i had eaten earlier. which might have been indian food (a possible explanation for the tummy weirdness in the middle of the night).

so. this all begs the question: what does it mean? one friend suggested the lobster dream was my subconscious picking over the remnants of my dissertation, trying to find pieces big enough to turn into something “edible.” the baby one could have something to do with my pregnant friend being in the hospital, waiting to be induced. the hot minx dream is obviously the result of her being a hot randy minx. duh. and they probably mean more. but instead of analyzing them with the help of freud’s interpretation of dreams (spoiler alert: everything is just about sex), which i always find falls frustratingly short, another thought struck me. you feel in dreams. you have emotions in them. isn’t it strange that that just struck me? i mean, i know you feel fear when “bad guys” are chasing you (sound familiar t-bone?) or hyperventilate-y sadness when someone dies or does something desperate. but i never actually thought about dreams as vehicles for more than just pieces of your subconscious manifesting things you aren’t normally allowed to think. like, you know, like making out with your coworker with b.o. or um…i dunno, having a relationship with shellfish. anyhoo. dreams as a manifestation of feelings. weird.

so my obvious question is: what was your most f*cked up dream? how’d it make you feel? and do you have your own interpretation?

i recently got this saying on a pin from my equally-fabulous friend chaos (um, dude, post something new already!) and i thought i’d begin on a high note cause you know it is all going downhill from here. well, not really. i have just been thinking about how it is coming up on my first year blogiversary and i am still a bag blogger. that’s right kids. welcome to why i am a bad blogger installment…um…i dunno. #6? a lot? a billion?

so there is the obvious situation of my random, some would say, spotty blogging habits. to which i reply, quite haughtily, “i am a blog artiste. and plus, i cannot help that big brother was on all summer followed by a new season of biggest loser (this time with families!) not to mention i am doing this dissertation thing which is REALLY cutting into america’s next top model (go isis you hot bitch!)” or something to that effect.

there is a somewhat related issue regarding my tags. or categories. or whatever. the thing is i have no idea really what they are. or what they do. i just like when categories pop up under my post titles and if there is nothing that strikes my fancy as an appropriate category, i make another. this happens a lot. (okay, now don’t go to my list of taggy categories cause it will cause me shame. do you think i can pay someone to clean that up for me? or make it relevant? or somethin’?).

there is the issue of ‘being on the market,’ which in academicese means trying to finally become employed after years and years (and years) of unemployment (cause face it kids, being a teaching or research assistant is really just about cushy slavery). i am not gonna lie. it is the biggest job undertaking EVER. and i don’t care if some of you are doctors (you know, the kind that actually help people) or executives (yeah, like executives read my blog) and had to go through completely tumultuous application processes. it is not as bad as trying to put together the past 10 years of unemployment in terms that make you seem employable. i’m just sayin’.

there is also the issue of the weather turning. i mean, summer is busy. there are fun things to do. you know when there aren’t as many fun things to do? when it is pouring and doesn’t get light enough for you to differentiate between dawn and dusk. that’s right folks. september in vancouver. but don’t get me wrong. i heart vancouver. i am just a twit who always forgets what the weather is like here in the winter.

and there is my general obsession with fat which i haven’t spoken about in a while. right now i am cooking up a new project which contains the key words: obesity, internet, new media, activism, community, fat phobia, social inclusion, and civic engagement. sounds fancy, huh? it isn’t really a secret so much as i don’t feel like regurgitating all the hours viciously robbed from hell’s kitchen to prepare it.

i am going to end this post with a question – which again goes to demonstrate why i am a bag blogger. i always assume people are going to respond (and those of you who do – i love you more than reality t.v. well, it is VERY close) enthusiastically and verbosely. the fact that i only get a few responses (despite the fact that i think i have hundreds of adoring audience members. yes, i am a delusional egomaniac. thank you for noticing cutie;) means a) i ask the wrong questions; or b) i ask questions that are not compelling enough for people to go through the bother of creating a false name only to have me reveal their true identities in the comments section. sound familiar robinmasters?

okay, my question is: what has been preoccupying you lately? work? school? a hobby? fat? i hope you all say fat so that we can be bffs. for reals forevs.

not everyone likes looking for a job but i dig it. it’s kinda like winning something. and being in a contest that you can win, unlike every other contest out there. i mean, i did snag five dollars in that recent lottery that was $43 million so maybe i’m super lucky and CAN win any contest out there. we’ll see.

the part people particularly hate – resume writing – is the part i like the most. i know. how messed up is that? but it is fun. especially when i write resumes for other people. so then, when i make shit up about them, i don’t feel so bad cause i don’t know it’s not true. do i? i often initiate the question game – like the one where you ask questions and then everyone has to answer in an attempt to learn interesting and unknown facts about the people you know. [note: this game works best under these two conditions: 1) there is nothing else to play or you are trapped in a car; and 2) there are copious amounts of alcohol. play at your own risk]. anyhoo – during the question game people often ask what the worst job you have ever had was and this normally results in uproarious laughter because you find out someone you know and love wiped old people’s bums or posed nude for art classes (the latter is less funny and more an opportunity to picture that person naked). alas, i have no good answer for this because i have had so few jobs and even though one required me to wear a dress from the 1840s, it is simply not that funny. nor dramatic. nor tragic.

maybe it is because i have been lucky with the jobs i have had which makes me excited about the process of job-getting or maybe it is my naivetee about all the shit jobs out there. i have this weird idea – that i swears is not ekhart tolle inspired – that you throw shit out there and see what sticks. and what sticks is usually the right thing because it is what is (okay – that last part was tolle – i admit it!). but i mean, as cliche as it sounds/is, where you end up teaches you something , if only about yourself.

i have also been thinking a lot about the misrecognition of self, not only because my most recent dissertation chapter is about it, but because i think many of us misrecognize ourselves as not enough or too much – whatever form that might take. i’m too fat, not smart enough, too critical/negative, not ambitious enough, etc. we can’t see past the past that no longer defines us. has become outside our lived experience but exists within us as a cancer. a plague of doubt. you know what people never hear enough of? praise. and the sentence that they are enough. better, they are perfect just as they are. fine. good. complete.

a job doesn’t give us fulfillment, but it offers a chance to live fully through our doubts and fears. through and beyond the nothingness that is the phrase: “i am not good enough.”

anyhoodle – what was your worst job? tell me. now. cause i want to laugh and possibly picture you naked.

(and forgive me for the help wanted poster. i couldn’t resist!).