I had a nightmare today.
I woke up at my normal hour, but it's a Friday, so I don't go to work, normally. There's a feeling in my gut saying today is a day off Friday.
I take a shower to chill myself, sit behind my desk to roll my cigarettes, and light one to smoke.
My kitchen knives are dull as fuck, and yet after that cigarette I get up, grab a knife and look at my arms.
I've been blessed with a nigh tutorial level of being visibility. Your think my veins are some tattoos.
And so, I attempt to get into a vein.
It feels like sliding a serrated knife against wood. Not a cutting board, but against a tree trunk. It kinda bounces up and down against my arm, leaving scratches not unlike those on a screen of a phone, especially if you scratch the fuck out of it with something like a nail.
I try a few times more.
It feels somewhat like girl's nail just gently gliding against my skin, and yet with the feeling of knife against wood. It's a warm, yet "hard" feeling.
I grab the knife upside down (?) and stab my arm. The knife enters my flesh without pain, and so I begin sawing along with my vein. It feels kind of like cutting a somewhat out of date steak: it's though, rubbery, but the upper skin layer is still "wooden". I note that it feels like those ice creams with thick chocolate skin and soft inner core.
I realize it's a dream at this point because:
a) I'm too much of a coward to slit my wrists.
And b) no blood comes out.
I try again on my other arm, but the results are the same. My arms now open and close like a jacket on a particular windy day. It also feels warm and... meaty...
I stare at my arm cavities a little, just admiring the holes in my meat and then wake up.
I cannot recall if I did, but my sense of humor is fucked up enough to amuse myself by opening and closing my arm holes and murmuring "mmmmm! Meeeeaaat!"
I then wake up for real this time.
There's a feeling in my gut saying today is a Friday where I do go to work.
I take a shower, smoke two cigarettes as per morning ritual requirements, and browse through my Bitcoin faucets as I do so.
And so, the cycle that happens every month or two behind.
A particular thought enters my mind: I have never been, and will never be cool.
A question then arises: why does a 30 year old grownass man bother himself with "being cool"?
Primarily the media, being a manchild, and being severely affected by epilepsy.
Once that leaves, the next thought enters: since I am not cool, being a neurocripple manchild, what, or who is cool?
If I want to be cool, I need an example of who or what is cool to follow and perhaps outdo. I take a few seconds to fetch examples of who is cool and why.
Most country singers - family oriented men (so far I've heard of maybe five women who sing country style music that isn't shitty love songs) who are able to provide far above average comfort for their families, travel for their job, are famous for their craft. They take life slow, easy, and comfortably.
A small chunk of Anon - hackers who are renowned for their craft, breaking things in particular.
"Idols" - young, very good looking guys and girls with impressive dancing and singing skills.
Alina gingertail from YouTube specifically - a specific "idol" that plays MANY instruments. She was also not produced in a sort of "idol factory".
I sit and review today's choices - most are musicians or artists, except for "a small chunk of Anon", although there too may be a small chunk of artists.
I look at myself and ask what prevents me from becoming a musician. The answer is always the same: epilepsy.
I've tried to study the guitar many times and it always ended with the same scenario: a grand mal seizure followed by a trip to ER.
Interesting observation: I've picked up an app that teaches my Python. No seizures so far.
As I go outside and begin the march to work, these thoughts transform into another thing: I'm a fucking pedophile. I am not attracted to women, I'm attracted to 20-ish year old girls. Despite being older, I still understand teenage woes. Mentally, I'm a teenager in a broken body. I'm also hairier than a teenager. I'm also a virgin. The whole "MUST... LOSE... VIRGINITY!!!" trope you see in movies is unpleasantly close.
I reach a place I call "checkpoint A" and light a cigarette. The thought of "I'm a fucking pedophile" is now screaming in my head. A young mother is walking by. She looks about 25-27. I ask myself if she looks good to me. I see wrinkles on her cheeks, under her eyes, the metric fuckton of makeup on her face, her horse-like face, her ears, which look like Danish pastry, and her absurdly veiny feet. Today she's wearing flip-flops, but normally she wears 5"-6" heels. Possibly a size too small.
I know I should want to fuck her, but I don't.
I reach checkpoint B. The thought of being a pedophile is no longer screaming in my head, not as hard as it did about an hour ago. As I light another cigarette, I begin to fantasize about writing a virus that would target prolifers. A WannaCry 2 of sorts, except instead of demanding 300$ in Bitcoin, it would simply destroy the system. I would unleash it on the general prolifer public. Alternatively, gather a botnet and use that to take prolifer sites or religious, anti-abortion sites.
By checkpoint C my mind is empty and all I care for is the hobo that lives there. He's a violent man who clearly enjoys some unconventional drug. I make sure to pass him and then light a cigarette.
I reach work, make some tea and kill time by reading on Programming Hero's "forum". Then it's finally time for pills, and an hour later they finally kick in and my mind turns completely blank and the cycle ends.