I’m Ben Jenkel, and I approved this message.
“Ben is blasphemy!
Pretending to be our Lord,
Strumming the new song.”
Due to petty bickering within an earshot of me during the last few weeks, I may or may NOT change the look of this page again. We’ll see. If you have an opinion in the matter, post a comment. Remember that you don’t have to register to post a comment if you’re too lazy or afraid.
On Saturday night, I had a dream that my Dad was dead on the couch of my childhood home. He had a rope around his neck, and appeared to be posed after being killed somewhere else. There was a similar corpse next to him, but I screamed myself awake before I found out who it was.
On Sunday night, I had a dream that a man threatened me with a scissors, forcing me out of a bathroom with my pants around my ankles so his daughter could use it. My only display of defiance was as I was taking baby steps out the door, yelling to him, “You’re the worst French ambassador we’ve ever had!” The Kindergarten-aged daughter fired back with, “Adios, Rooney!” In which I replied with, “Adios, you f***ing bitch!” I awoke laughing my ass off. (The F-word has been edited by me to preserve what little family atmosphere left here.)
And on Monday night, I dreamed that I was in my Grandparents’ driveway on the hood of my car, talking to a cloud in the middle of the night. The cloud said something to me about dragons and witchery, and began to swoop down to me. I again screamed myself awake, and my nose started bleeding.
The last dream I can chalk up to my new surroundings in the mailroom where I work. Dawn, the resident mail handler, has covered every inch of drywall with more fantasy posters and action figures than all the Anime conventions in the world. Those first 2 dreams though, I’m telling ya…
It’s the heat, is what it is. I can’t stand peeling myself off of every surface I come into contact with for more than a second. You’re uncomfortable everywhere, the electric bill goes through the roof, and intimacy is almost impossible for a neat freak such as myself. Celia so much as throws an arm around me, and I break out into a flop sweat so dense I go blind. There is about a 2-week span where it’s comfortable to live in this part of the nation.
I still hate Texas.