Isms and Schisms, Arriving Helter Skelter
Is there such a thing as a dream that doesn’t offer outright foreboding, but instead bode at some foreboding ahead? A foreboding of forebodings yet to come? Because, if so, that’s the dream I’ve apparently just had, and it’s left me in a very disturbed mood as I start my day. If you’ve ever been in fear of something you know is unavoidable – a dentists’ appointment, a phone call, whatever – then you know the feeling I’m talking about… The strange unexplainable unease that makes ideas like “relaxing” and “trying not to be convinced that disaster is around the corner” seem endlessly exotic.
The truly unnerving thing, though, may be how easily I am (happily) assuming disaster. I have no logical reason for assuming the worst that I can think of, and yet, all it took was one dream starring friends both lost to death and to growing apart geographically talking about my job to have me convinced that Bristolian rapper Tricky was right: Hell is around the corner. As I type this, I can feel my shoulders tense up and my concentration steadfastly refuse to settle down and stay still. I blame recent events, and the way they’ve bred me to believe that something bad is really still about to happen, as soon as I let my guard down.
Of course, I also blame that for my finally cleaning my office yesterday, tidying away stacks of books, comics, DVDs and paperwork that’ve happily laid there untouched for months, so I may just be looking for easy scapegoats. But let me say this: Waking up primed for disaster is an easy way to make you feel like you’ve wasted an entire sleep. And my office looks fucking great now.
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