BATTERY!

I mean both the Metallica song of the same name and the battery of applications I've been filling out tonight. The former hasn't let me down in the past 15 years, but filling out an application for U of H, so I can take an introductory Chinese course this fall, is a bitch. So is the voter registration card, but only because the fucking pre-printed address on the front is completely inapplicable to living in Harris County.

So: tomorrow I call U of H and demand to know why there's no spot on the Texas Common Application for dudes who just want to come back and take a couple classes, and walk down to the library or post office for a proper Harris County voter registration form. That's right, my ass is finally gonna vote. Why? KINKY FUCKIN' FRIEDMAN.

Work week's over, I got paid, Fry Night Deuce is tomorrow, and certain people's behaviors still baffle me. Not a bad night, really.

Oh, yeah! I've had dreams involving China every night this week. Very, very weird dreams, ranging from being in some kind of treaty port/legation enclave city, to watching Qingdao erode and crumble into the sea, to shit I can't even remember. It's been fascinating, and the nightmares I had earlier in this week have thankfully subsided.

One of said nightmares involved riding through a- get this- baroque-era oilfield and shooting everyone in my path with a pistol that needed to be cocked twice before being fired, only to run into a horribly sadistic Daniel Day Lewis (I don't know how I knew it was him, but I did; y'all know the logic of dreams). Mr. Lewis' face was tattooed to Queequeg proportions, and he put an end to my killing spree by inflicting, upon either myself or my traveling companion- can't remember which- one hell of a nasty punishment. DDL held a Russian Orthodox cross- you know, the kind with the additional crossbar- made of razor-edged steel, and commenced to shear my, or my companion's, fucking hand off halfway through the palm. I can still see DDL blithely speaking to whomever was being mutilated as he pushed the blade through, cutting flesh like it was butter, and even worse, I remember seeing what all that muscle and bone looked like in cross-section.

And while it wasn't a nightmare per se, Monday night/Tuesday morning, shortly after falling asleep, I was visited in my bed by four Chinese in plaid shirts. I swear it didn't feel like a dream, because I recall hearing them speak to one another, then waking up and sensing them next to my bed. In the dream I was having, I knew that the four Chinese in question were either early Kuomintang members or the Gang of Four, but upon waking up and knowing they were staring at me in my bed, I couldn't recall which group they were, and I was so fuckin' creeped out that I didn't have the balls to turn over and look at them, much less ask them who they were.

Honestly, I'm not insane. Really. I think that I'm just finally getting the hang of proto-lucid dreaming, and given my recent inundation with all things Chinese, my dreams (and the incident that I still believe wasn't just a fuckin' dream) are reflecting it.

Man, I do sound nuts. If I am, so be it. Better to go nuts over my inability to lead the defense of the Chinese coast from an offshore fortress due to angering the local spirit of said fortress than, say, a woman. Waking up drenched in sweat and paranoia is easier to handle than aching atria.

Ha ha! I can't believe I'm going to post this. I reckon if I wake up tomorrow and regret it, I'll just delete it, but probably not before some choice folks read it. Adios, y'all!

-D.A.S.