Who invited all the damn crows

I dream almost every night, and for the past 3 months  I’ve tried with  a reasonable success rate to write down what happens when I’m asleep. This means that a black leather book lives beside my bed, it’s heart  filled with tiny scribbles of varying legibility, the messages running the gamut from seemingly symbol-Laden- probable gibberish, to complex storylines that feel like ghosts around the edges of my waking life. 
I write down my dreams in this book while my brain is in that hazy, San Francisco Fog State between asleep and awake  so I often have to go back and rewrite when fully awake. I feel like one’s brain starts to forget what happens in dream worlds very quickly so it’s important to do it as soon as possible.

Some patterns have emerged. I’ll highlight a few of them.

  • I dream about fully fleshed – out people with names. Sometimes I know them, often I don’t. 
  • I dream about sex  with women. (don’t we all) 
  • I dream in muted colours 
  • I have no idea what my face looks like, but I am very small, my hands remain the same: long, thin, and boney. Sometimes I am aware of my hair, which is long and in my way
  • I dream the same dreams often . Some of these dreams have been recurring since I was a child.
  • There are, so far as I can see, 5 worlds  that are connected to each other but don’t exist in the same time. They seem to be connected with a subway line of sorts that I can exit at any point, and the train is also a part of different times. My   real-life fascination with fashion seems to mean that my brain is created wardrobe as an identifier for time-period.The worlds are as follows :
  • An apartment where a number of people who reoccur in these dreams live. I don’t know how many floors it has but it seems endless and is More or less in the present. Sometimes there’s a fire pit in the common area. It’s very gray and always night. 
  • My own childhood time-period,during the late summer. 
  • A junkyard (I guess) but in a sort of soup ladle  shape, basically hanging in nothingness. 
  • The weird-ass Subway 
  • An old west construct.(this makes no sense because I have zero attachment to the Olde West, western films,ect. Even while I’m having the dream, I feel like “wtf is this corny ass shit”. 
  • Somewhere that that feels very old,  is slightly cold but not so cold that I am uncomfortable, and has no noticeable buildings. I have been inside structures on this world, but I couldn’t tell you what they look like from the outside. This is the one that bothers me because when I’m awake I feel like I remember it randomly and it makes me feel as that I’m out of time. It seems to be nothing  but trees and cliffs and I feel very very small, physically.

 Some other noticeable patterns are these:( at this point I’m going to point out that I practice lucid dreaming so I have decent amount of control in some situations. I’m not great at it and I’m off and lazy and don’t try to use it) 

  • So many crows, why all the crows. Who invited those  assholes. 
  • I am completely capable of using the internet in my dreams. Or at least my phone. I don’t see the face of it or anything but I know that I’m using it
  • Sometimes there are clear messages that are just one sentence. Sometimes these repeat themselves and they always make no sense within the context of what’s Happening
  • The most noticeable is this. I am helping people in my dreams. I am always helping people do something, find something,  get somewhere, Etc. Sometimes I know them, usually I don’t. And often times it’s something sad. I realized  this a long time ago: That often the dreams that I dream don’t feel like my own. They feel like something I am doing for someone else,  whether or not I want to.

I’ll write more about this later. But I wanted to get the outline of how I’m dreaming out there first before writing about this further here. This probably seems strange to you, all this listening to what happens when I’m asleep  but as long as I can remember I have been dreaming dreams that that are big and strange and pointed and recurring.

Its 6:30 right now and I’m slightly jet-lagged. I desperately want to grind coffee but I also don’t want to wake up Alvin who is so peacefully asleep in the other room. I think I’ll probably just poked my head in there and see if he’s on his phone or not and if he is, then all bets are off. I’m grinding. It’s the second day of the new year, and I’m wishing  that you’re having the best  start to your year  possible ,  and maybe, maybe, I’m dreaming about you.


I previously promised a variety of content, some of which will be about me. This about me. More accurately, it is about my body hair, and the luxurious overabundance thereof and my less than successful  removal adventures : you’re welcome to skip off to another place on the internet, if this is low-key gross to you.  It’ll be more fun than reading about The Orange  Hair Hitler’s latest trash-can fire of a decision, so maybe stick out this entry.

I come from hairy people. Like, I’m genetically fucked. I also over-produce testosterone: I had pubes before I had boobs, and I had my little mustache Lasered way by age 17. I’ve come to terms with shaving my pits 4 times a week and my legs daily. I’ve accepted the reality that the same genetics that make me tan year round  and give me a little, wiry frame give me a bikini line that’s more like a colonizing empire than a small island. However.

I have a beard. This adventure  in hair-having started at 16 when a crush noticed a single chest-hair on my bony little sternum. Two days later, while having crisis related to frosted lipstick in the bathroom (because lipstick only came in frosted ,horrible shades until 2012) I found a single neck-hair and a single chin-hair. Because I didn’t have a tight-nit squad of girlfriends or whatever (or any at all) no one told me I should freak the fuck out, so I did not. Not Until 5 years ago, when I realized I was shaving every day, and  that my the then- boyfriend could tell, did I start to worry.

I have epilated. I have used Japanese and South Korean devises .  I HAVE USED FUCKING VANIQUA . I have used Tria. I have also waxed. Rather, I have traumatized countless, beautiful, hairless gay estheticians  by having them wax me.

No matter what fastidious methods I use to avoid ingrowns, I get them. The last time I waxed was the last straw. 2 weeks after i waxed my fucking lower neck (I don’t have a few hairs, I have *subreddit-editor quality neckbeard) I got an ingrown SO LARGE that I am still recovering from looking like I have a golf-ball artfully imbedded in my jaw-line. It was horrible. I didn’t want people to see me. I try to be thick skinned. I can cope with the mild humiliation I feel on a daily basis , or the worry that other women look at my jawline and notice  that there’s a shadow, but shaving my face every day is bad for my skin and ingrown hair related scarring is too much. I’m dropping the millions of stupid dollars to get this stuff lasered away once and for all. I’m going to make a plea to the mothers of hairy Pre-teen and teen girls. LET THE FUCKING GIRL GET RID OF IT ,OMG. Puh-LEEZ. this shit its stupid. Sometimes hair isn’t about feminism or vanity, it’s about pain and expense. A unibow is one thing, a beard is another.

*not sorry. I know, #notallsubredditors.