The NGO in Berlin has turned me down. I feel something I'm pretty sure is anger; let's hope that lasts so I have the energy to deal with the situation. Still no word from Sunday's interview, but I'm sure you can guess the excessively positive frame of mind I'm in right now. Especially as my present company's conference is coming up very soon and that's when things are going to sharply deteriorate here. But there's nothing I can do but keep trying to deal, and keep trying to remember that the longer I wait the higher the money stacks. Getting close to the 'fuck it' stage, though, which at this point seems to involve moving to Costa Rica or points south.
Last night I dreamt my favourite aunt was a pothead. She was loudly extolling the virtues of the big fat bud she was holding that she'd 'borrowed' from one of my cousins, and then talking about the fantastic plants she was planning to grow. This was happening as we walked through the Montreal aeroport, which made me uncomfortable - until I realized her attitude was paralyzing the security guards. They couldn't wrap their heads around a woman like her, so they froze.
I'm sure there's a lesson in there somewhere - something about being myself, no doubt. That I wouldn't be nearly as controversial as I think I'd be and that at any rate I wouldn't have to go to prison. That I'm setting way more limits on myself than the Man is, whoever he is. Because these days I feel not myself at all - just so busy with work and looking for work and looking for school, etc. There's been so little time for myself or expressions thereof. I suppose it's my big fantasy to find a job that expresses some part of myself, by which I mean I can engage in it without feeling compromised even if it isn't absorbing all my attention and energy. Because of the mandate, I can't do that with my present job, not even a little bit. I'm like a fish thrashing to death on the floor of a fucking Lexus dealership here.
Thank god for analysis. The opiate of the bourgeoisie? Maybe - but opiates are fucking delicious and useful in their place. And in that vein, I'd like to post a message from my dank, dark, scary but always reliable subconscious to my and your consciousnesses, via the immortal Vincent Price.