Dreaming my dreams

I wasn't going to blog about this as it's a bit unpleasant, but it's also fascinating so I'm gonna.

Now then, for those that are new to the blog, I canny breath no more due to my having Cystic Fibrosis. So I am connected to an oxygen thingy at all times, even when I just go to the sammich place or make a poo.

Now then, sometimes the nasal cannula I wear slips off at night. If I am asleep at this time this can cause me to feel very breathless or, on occasion, can cause me to actually stop breathing altogether and I wake up gasping as if I've just made love to a large woman.

Now then, this is the fascinating bit; what wakes me up are my dreams. When I'm in this condition my distress becomes manifest in my dreams in the form of really rather nasty death deaths.

For example, I will be drowning, or choking on a sammich. Or on one occasion, an unidentified man will put a pillow over my head. And as I struggle in the dream to free myself, I wake up. It is the struggle and the alarm I feel in the dream that wakes me. Brilliant!

I am then able to replace my nasal cannula when I wake up and return to a state of breathing. While this is obviously unpleasant, I find it also incredibly clever on the part of my brains. I wish I lived in a time when the science boffins had more of an understanding of how our brains work.

That our brains have a subconscious level that remains alert and awake while we sleep to keep us from succumbing in situations like this is very very clever. To be able to alert us via dreams is fantastic stuff. I find it amazing. How does it work though? How how?

How am I aware that I'm not breathing in the sort of corporeal world even though I'm asleep and then able to warn myself by making movie about it and showing it to myself straight away before it's too late?

Our dreams are so mysterious. They are clearly very important. It is for this reason I am alarmed that dream suppressants have been developed and prescribed to people. If I had taken any such medication I'd be a goner.

If any science boffins are reading this I suggest you stop making that kind of medication and focus more on tablets that make you feel like when they give you morphine only without the addictive aide effects.

I've said my piece, I'll bid you good day.

Dreams

Every now and then I have a dream where it's the last day of the year long internship I did in New York and everyone in our apartment is packed and ready to leave except me. All of my stuff is everywhere and I don't know where to begin and I feel abandoned by everyone then I wake up and go for a piss.

Also I have another recurring dream where it's the last day of college and I have loads of work still to be handed in and everyone else is finished and sitting about drinking coffee and wondering what to do with their summer.

This last one is actually based on my actual experiences of college as I really was a hair's breath away from failing everything because I left it until the very last moments to hand my work in. Everyone in my class was helping me with it. Everyone except the six or seven people who sat back and watched me panic as they thought I was a cunt who deserved to fail.

Last night the two dreams combined!! I was not packed and my work was not completed. Many many people mocked me. Two guys who laughed at me actually I'm afraid were killed by me! I plunged a knife into one of them and the other one was battered to death with a pipe.

Now, I'm either wrong in the head or should stop watching violent police dramas before bed. I'm just hoping I'm wrong in the head cause Third Watch is my favourite show at the moment. They really shouldn't have cancelled it and these past few weeks of watching all six seasons again has made me feel so alive I'm not stopping now I'm so close to the finale. And you can quote me.




Back in the real world, instead of national service in the Army for our young uns, why not assign them all to a year's service in the emergency services? Not actually where they have to be in contact with people, but doing the crappy tedious jobs that traditionally are filled by illegals and people who are borderline mongers.

Jobs like cleaning the floors in hospitals, doing paper work for the police so they can actually leave their stations and do some proper police work like Office Boscorelli, or cleaning up the gallons of vomit everywhere.

That would be just as character building as charging at straw filled dummies with a bayoneted rifle. Plus the illegals and mongers could then be demoted to even worse jobs like cleaning out ditches and drains and shining street signs and just tidying the place up a bit.

If you go to places like Norway and Sweden the streets are immaculate. It's like an NHS operating theatre only cleaner. They may pay taxes that are higher than George Osborne when he's delivering his budget, but they get something for their taxes. We should too in my opinion and slavery dressed up as national service is really the only way to go.

A freedom of cunts

Nothing a short burst from a machine gun couldn't fix.

We can use the word cunt now as the BBC have decided it's OK. So let's put it to some good use this morning and discuss burglar and arch cunt Wayne Bishop. This chap has been a professional burglar since leaving school and has made the lives of those who live anywhere near him a misery.

He has many many little urchins who are clothed and fed by the tax payer and other people's valuables. He has been released from prison because his human rights afford him the right to a family life. The collective noun for cunts like this in fact now a "freedom."

Now, while I don't know the ins and outs of the case, I'm sure this is bollocks. Listen judicial system, I know you read my blog, the purpose of jail, the initial purpose, is exactly to do just that: to deny criminals their single fundamental right, which is freedom. Which is to say imprison them. It's why it's called prison.

If keeping someone in prison and away from his little sprogs and custard stained tracksuit wearing whore or a wife is a breach of his human rights, then surely prison itself must be done away with as it's the worst kind of human rights contravention?

You can't have it both ways. You either have prison and those that break the law have to accept that when they enter one they can consider themselves "between human rights" until their release. Or we just don't have prisons at all and just call it a day with crime in general and then it's every man for himself, which of course, in reality, is already the case. Just no one has publicly announced it yet. Cunts.

* * *

Now then, since I took the decision some five years ago to spend as much time asleep as possible it of course means the most interesting experiences and occurrences that occur during any given week are my dreams and it's last night's cacophony of nonsense I'd like to discuss now if you'll indulge me.

I'd initially dreamt of something involving Louis from Smallville, but the details are of little consequnce. All you need to know is she wanted it and I nearly gave it to her, but she changed into someone else and then I was suddenly somewhere else anyway and then I woke up as I needed a wee.

Later on I dreamt, instead of boarding a train for some horrible part of London, I'd accidentally boarded the Euro Star train bound for Paris and was heading swiftly towards my doom. This of course is enough to give anyone nightmares (within their nightmares), but it wasn't just the fact that pound for pound the dirtiest most arrogant city in Europe was just an hour away, it was entering the channel tunnel that gave me the willies.

I did not like it. Now then amateur Freudianists, calm down, it's not because I'm scared of nookie or cause vaginas baffle me cause I'm not and they don't - I know that wee comes from a different hole now. And it's not because I can't get an erection either cause I just had one thank you very much. It was not a metaphorical sex dream.

I am simply mildly claustrophobic having once been unable to free myself from a Kagool. And coupled with my Francophobia it became an unbearable incarceration. Even the sort of stewardess girl, who I think was the lovely Anna Sigalevitch from the Piano Teacher, was unable to soothe my concerns.

Where was my yuman rights in that situation eh? Where was the European Judiciary to deliver me from that imprisonement? It can't be right when an honest to goodness law abiding citizen like me can't be rescued from being near France, yet 'orrible burglarising cunt Wayne Bishop is released from prison with an apology and a bag of monies just so he can go home to his rent free four bedroom house to copulate with his grubby misses and add further to the surplus population of the under classes again.

I woke up all sweaty and breathing deeply and is it any wonder? Freedom? I should be so fortunate. Cunts, the lot of them. Gertcha.

You are on ze wrong train Monsieur, would you like un grape?

Nonsense of the highest order

Last night I dreamt I'd parked my car under a tree for the shade but when I got back it was wrapped almost entombed in the trees' branches that had snaked themselves around my car. It was like I'd left it there for decades and all manner of flora had grown around it.

What on earth does this mean? Which of my inner psychological issues is my mind addressing with this symbolism? Or is it to be taken at face value? Am I warning myself of the dangers of leaving my car unattended in close proximity to a tree for many decades?

This and more will addressed in a meeting with myself this afternoon. But top of the agenda will of course be our new Pigeons'* game strategy. It feels like many many weeks since the last Pigeons' game. I'm quite the sure the Government is stealing time from us while we dream. It's why I always leave one eye open when I sleep.

The new strategy will mostly be built on a foundation of not playing every single hand. Also..we will we utilise a strategy I've been reading up on recently which is not offer up an enormous raise when it is quite clear even to those passing the table to go to the lavatories that my goose is cooked.

Coupled with outrageous luck and no one else turning up, it's a strategy with no flaws. And why not? With my prize of many monies I will invest in some comfortable airy new lounge wear and some fizzy coke bottles.


*Grammar question: It's the Three Pigeons Pub, and the game is located at this pub so could be said to belong to the pub so should it be "Pigeons's game," "Pigeons Game" or "Pigeons' game?"
I'm sure it's the latter. Silly language.