There's a dead man in my house, and it's creeping me out.
He's been here since yesterday, and I'm just a bit unsettled every time I go into the living room and see him in there. Sure, he's... considerably smaller than he used to be, and in an ornate cermic urn, but he's still a dead man.
Perhaps more unsettling is the amount of estrogen flooding this household. We're currently housing not only my roommate Jennifer, but her mother, her aunts, and her cousin, all from Connecticut. It's nice to have a little Yankee around here, and they're delightful people. It's just weird to have so many women in the house.
I am in the crowd that would, too, like to be cremated -- as are my parents. I see no point in spending money to put my bones underground. I think that's just what they are... bones. The soul is really what it's all about, but I don't want people carrying me around with them in a bowl. Nay, I want to be cast back to the earth from which I came. So scatter me on College Green, scatter me in the Maumee River, scatter me at Tropicana Field. That might be a bit weird.
But most certainly do not make me stick around, as a dead man in your house. The dead man drove Yossarian to madness, albeit still a degree of madness that was sanity compared to his colleagues. It's just unsettling, I guess.
I had a crazy dream last night. It was a dream that transcended the usual mind ability to warp time and space. It was epic, and it kept me asleep until two in the afternoon. Among events I can remember from the dream, I:
1. Started an enormous fire by spray-painting a microwave oven green. (I put it out with an enormous fire extinguisher.
2. Interrupted some kind of dice game in a casino.
3. Performed a comedy set to gangsters (not gangstas, I've already DONE that).
4. Made out with someone, though I cannot remember whom.
5. Oh yeah! It was my ex-girlfriend.
6. Changed my clothes about ten times, because "I needed to" though that need was never really expressed to me.
7. Drank from a keg with my college friend Justin.
