World peace is finally at hand. More specifically, at my right hand. Can you feel it?
My first album, entitled "Huh??" is finally out! Before you read on, go and preview it here:
Huh??
Ok, now buy it.
Now buy two more copies for Uncle Sally and Aunt George. Each.
Ok, now read on.
First of all, a note on the "Explicit" tag: it's just the word "bitch" in the song "Your Favorite Girl." With that song title, it was impossible to avoid. Oh wait, my bad, it's not in that song. It's in the song "High Maintenance." Hmm...I'm starting to doubt I wrote this album.
Other notes:
1. These are all originals...like most songs in the world...but these happen to be written by me. The singer is also coincidentally me, though I'm not sure that's as happy a coincidence.
2. That's my real hair on the album cover.
3. My band name for this album is Something Kinky. I realize this may be a little too kinky for some people, but this is Sermon on the Couch after all, and a modern Moses uses all the tools at his disposal.
4. The album will also soon be available on iTunes and a bunch of other online stores, I'll put up the list.
Next, here's the plan. Each of you tells at least 1000 people about this album, and they all go out (to their respective living rooms, to their computers) and buy it. Afterwards, when I'm rich, you can all come stay at my mansion and live off of my massive untaxed interest.
I'll try to give some info on each song next time, but right now it's time to attend to the screaming fans outside my window. Wait...reality check...I'm lucid dreaming!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Dream Food Induces Lucidity
I'm generally optimistic, but nothing beats my sister and her essay contests. Every month or so, she'll participate in some national writing contest and she'll spend a solid ten minutes writing an essay. I figure she just doesn't really care, but then three weeks later, when the results are due, she takes an extra three shifts at the mailbox, waiting for a letter of congratulations.
I finally had a lucid dream today! It lasted all of 2 seconds, but it was unmistakable. The interesting part was how I got to lucidity. In order to become lucid, you have to realize that you're dreaming while in the dream. If you do reality checks all day every day, then you usually become lucid through that - performing one inside a dream. In my case, it was predictably much more roundabout.
In my dream, I'm at this big family gathering in our backyard. There's tons of food and even more relatives, which should already tip me off since we rarely even invite ourselves over for dinner. So there's all this food, but for some reason I don't pounce on it. Instead, I go out to the car and drive away somewhere. I forget where I drove and I don't think I even really knew in the dream, but I drove for a while, making illegal U-turns and getting nowhere.
Suddenly I get suspicious. Why the hell am I driving around aimlessly when there's so much food to be eaten at home? "I must be dreaming," I think. "How do I check?...Aha!" I whip out my cell phone and call home. Mom picks up.
Mark: Mom, where am I right now?
Mom: you're sitting at the table eating.
Mark (hangs up): I'm dreaming!
The instant I become sure of it, it's like fifteen layers of fog suddenly lift and the world is suddenly real and colorful. It's amazing how I didn't notice its dreariness before. But no matter, I'm lucid dreaming now! I'm about to take off (flying) and then...I wake up.
Another one bites the dust.
I finally had a lucid dream today! It lasted all of 2 seconds, but it was unmistakable. The interesting part was how I got to lucidity. In order to become lucid, you have to realize that you're dreaming while in the dream. If you do reality checks all day every day, then you usually become lucid through that - performing one inside a dream. In my case, it was predictably much more roundabout.
In my dream, I'm at this big family gathering in our backyard. There's tons of food and even more relatives, which should already tip me off since we rarely even invite ourselves over for dinner. So there's all this food, but for some reason I don't pounce on it. Instead, I go out to the car and drive away somewhere. I forget where I drove and I don't think I even really knew in the dream, but I drove for a while, making illegal U-turns and getting nowhere.
Suddenly I get suspicious. Why the hell am I driving around aimlessly when there's so much food to be eaten at home? "I must be dreaming," I think. "How do I check?...Aha!" I whip out my cell phone and call home. Mom picks up.
Mark: Mom, where am I right now?
Mom: you're sitting at the table eating.
Mark (hangs up): I'm dreaming!
The instant I become sure of it, it's like fifteen layers of fog suddenly lift and the world is suddenly real and colorful. It's amazing how I didn't notice its dreariness before. But no matter, I'm lucid dreaming now! I'm about to take off (flying) and then...I wake up.
Another one bites the dust.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Local Apocalypse
Monday, life is coming to an end in this house. It's supposed to be that part of the 30-day no-sugar-added trial where all other impulses are abandoned as well, but we haven't decided quite what this means yet. Some ideas presented to the board were:
1. Do the opposite of every impulse, a la Seinfeld, where George does it to great effect on a first date: "I'm unemployed and I live with my parents." Best pick-up line ever. Actually, the only thing separating me from George-hood right now is a Herculean body, bountiful hair, fantastic talents, 20/20 vision, intense self-appreciation, and easy-goingness. Otherwise, I'm pretty much channeling the lifestyle.
2. Meditate 12 hours a day. This is the most realistic one of course. Unfortunately, in a different reality.
3. Become more aware of each moment by doing everything differently, i.e. only getting around by hopping, only chewing using incisors, only going to the bathroom in August, etc.
4. Get rid of impulses through overindulgement: watch 10 movies a day while sitting in a bathtub filled with chocolate and masturbating continuously. Appealing, but I don't think we have enough movies. Nor is any one of us physically fit enough for the third leg of this simul-triathalon.
5. Fasting. Ha!
6. Just give up! I've had great success with this strategy in the past and I don't know if this is the right time to break in a new one. It's "the easy way out" of course, but the easy way out's bad rap is undeserved. I already have the conversation planned out for when...whoa there, almost let that one get by!...IF I have a son:
Son: Daddy, I took the easy way out today, just like you taught me.
Mark: I'm proud of you son!
Son: And I'm never getting a job.
Mark: That's my boy! And don't you worry, Mama'll support us.
Funny:
(to Pei)
Mark: ur like the soviet union
Mark: has anyone ever told u that?
Mark: I'm only a 100% sure
Gene: well we should check the other 100% just in case
Michelle: he's so cute! He's so cute! He's so cute!
Mark: who's cute?
Michelle: the guy who got skin cancer.
(deciding whether to watch Get Smart or Secret Life of Bees)
Mark (minus brain): ok, let's flip a coin. Tails is Bees because bees have tails.
1. Do the opposite of every impulse, a la Seinfeld, where George does it to great effect on a first date: "I'm unemployed and I live with my parents." Best pick-up line ever. Actually, the only thing separating me from George-hood right now is a Herculean body, bountiful hair, fantastic talents, 20/20 vision, intense self-appreciation, and easy-goingness. Otherwise, I'm pretty much channeling the lifestyle.
2. Meditate 12 hours a day. This is the most realistic one of course. Unfortunately, in a different reality.
3. Become more aware of each moment by doing everything differently, i.e. only getting around by hopping, only chewing using incisors, only going to the bathroom in August, etc.
4. Get rid of impulses through overindulgement: watch 10 movies a day while sitting in a bathtub filled with chocolate and masturbating continuously. Appealing, but I don't think we have enough movies. Nor is any one of us physically fit enough for the third leg of this simul-triathalon.
5. Fasting. Ha!
6. Just give up! I've had great success with this strategy in the past and I don't know if this is the right time to break in a new one. It's "the easy way out" of course, but the easy way out's bad rap is undeserved. I already have the conversation planned out for when...whoa there, almost let that one get by!...IF I have a son:
Son: Daddy, I took the easy way out today, just like you taught me.
Mark: I'm proud of you son!
Son: And I'm never getting a job.
Mark: That's my boy! And don't you worry, Mama'll support us.
Funny:
(to Pei)
Mark: ur like the soviet union
Mark: has anyone ever told u that?
Mark: I'm only a 100% sure
Gene: well we should check the other 100% just in case
Michelle: he's so cute! He's so cute! He's so cute!
Mark: who's cute?
Michelle: the guy who got skin cancer.
(deciding whether to watch Get Smart or Secret Life of Bees)
Mark (minus brain): ok, let's flip a coin. Tails is Bees because bees have tails.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Sniping The Toilet
Yesterday another lucky tooth graduated from death row to tooth heaven. I went to the dentist and got that long due root canal. My other teeth are jealous, but I promised them the same fate shortly.
My dentist hates doing root canals so he had a stunt double do mine. Of course I wasn't fooled. Not only did she look nothing like him, the way she operated couldn't be more different. There's an expression: "measure twice, cut once." Actually, in Russian, the expression is "measure seven times, cut once." Well my dentist is to the Russian version as the Russian version is to the American one. He can measure all day, muttering little rhymes and anecdotes into his beard, and then cut sometime next month and in a different mouth altogether. He's slow, methodical, slow, and really really slow. However, he's supposedly good at what he does and I'm definitely good at providing him with a constant inflow of work material, so we're loyal to one another.
His replacement was the exact opposite. If my dentist is more like a lizard who can wait all day to strike at that unsuspecting fly, she was more like a wasp - flying right into that bee colony and snapping off all their heads, or in my case - flying in from all directions and never letting the drill's buzz reverberations inside my mouth die out.
Nevertheless, I ended up sitting there with my mouth open for two hours and forty-five minutes. The problem was that this was a molar tooth and they have more canals than Mars ever did. Each canal has to be cleaned out separately. At least one made-up statistic says: 75% of molars have 3 canals, 24.99% have 4 canals, but then there's that nasty 0.01% that have 173. Luckily I fell in the 24.99%, otherwise I'd still be sitting in that chair.
She also used some interesting aids that my dentist never used. She put what amounted to a hand-made elastic funnel into my mouth in order to isolate the tooth from the rest of me. You can perform oral sex with that thing in your mouth and the tooth will be innocent of the whole affair. I kept wondering the whole time what it looked like from her point of view, so eventually I asked her for a bathroom break and went to take a look. The dentist's aide passed me in the hall and nearly died laughing. When I reached the bathroom I understood why. It looked pretty ridiculous. The closest I can find on the Internet is this:
which unfortunately looks nothing like it. This looks even less like it:
and this:
is completely unrelated.
Unfortunately, as soon as I entered the bathroom, I felt an irresistable urge to pee. I got in position and suddenly realized that there was absolutely no way I could see where to aim, with this all-but-Japanese-invention protruding from my face. I had to orient myself by sound. Does that sound like it's hitting water? No, that must be a magazine or something. Toilet paper...floor...wall...."hey! Quit that!"...window...trash bin...aha! Found it!
You know how when you wake up in the morning, you're like two feet taller till your spine snaps back to its normal length? I think there's a similar rule for jaws. When I closed my jaw after three hours of holding it open, I couldn't quite fit the two halves together. It took a few hours for everything to get back in their right places. If this is a trend for other parts of our body, I don't understand how astronauts deal with it. Seems like they'd just explode in slow motion.
My dentist hates doing root canals so he had a stunt double do mine. Of course I wasn't fooled. Not only did she look nothing like him, the way she operated couldn't be more different. There's an expression: "measure twice, cut once." Actually, in Russian, the expression is "measure seven times, cut once." Well my dentist is to the Russian version as the Russian version is to the American one. He can measure all day, muttering little rhymes and anecdotes into his beard, and then cut sometime next month and in a different mouth altogether. He's slow, methodical, slow, and really really slow. However, he's supposedly good at what he does and I'm definitely good at providing him with a constant inflow of work material, so we're loyal to one another.
His replacement was the exact opposite. If my dentist is more like a lizard who can wait all day to strike at that unsuspecting fly, she was more like a wasp - flying right into that bee colony and snapping off all their heads, or in my case - flying in from all directions and never letting the drill's buzz reverberations inside my mouth die out.
Nevertheless, I ended up sitting there with my mouth open for two hours and forty-five minutes. The problem was that this was a molar tooth and they have more canals than Mars ever did. Each canal has to be cleaned out separately. At least one made-up statistic says: 75% of molars have 3 canals, 24.99% have 4 canals, but then there's that nasty 0.01% that have 173. Luckily I fell in the 24.99%, otherwise I'd still be sitting in that chair.
She also used some interesting aids that my dentist never used. She put what amounted to a hand-made elastic funnel into my mouth in order to isolate the tooth from the rest of me. You can perform oral sex with that thing in your mouth and the tooth will be innocent of the whole affair. I kept wondering the whole time what it looked like from her point of view, so eventually I asked her for a bathroom break and went to take a look. The dentist's aide passed me in the hall and nearly died laughing. When I reached the bathroom I understood why. It looked pretty ridiculous. The closest I can find on the Internet is this:
which unfortunately looks nothing like it. This looks even less like it:
and this:
is completely unrelated.
Unfortunately, as soon as I entered the bathroom, I felt an irresistable urge to pee. I got in position and suddenly realized that there was absolutely no way I could see where to aim, with this all-but-Japanese-invention protruding from my face. I had to orient myself by sound. Does that sound like it's hitting water? No, that must be a magazine or something. Toilet paper...floor...wall...."hey! Quit that!"...window...trash bin...aha! Found it!
You know how when you wake up in the morning, you're like two feet taller till your spine snaps back to its normal length? I think there's a similar rule for jaws. When I closed my jaw after three hours of holding it open, I couldn't quite fit the two halves together. It took a few hours for everything to get back in their right places. If this is a trend for other parts of our body, I don't understand how astronauts deal with it. Seems like they'd just explode in slow motion.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I'm Not Taking The Blame For Your Suicide
We (Mark, Gene and Ellen) saw two movies today in the theater for the price of one. We surrendered our morals to Buddha so we felt no compunction in cheating the movie theater out of the price of three extra tickets.
The first movie was I Love You Man. This was a pretty damn funny comedy though with a slightly far-fetched premise: Paul Rudd, sexiest man alive according to some magazine or another I'm sure, has never had a guy friend. Now his wedding/funeral is approaching/looming and he needs to find someone to be his best man. I don't buy it, but given the given, it's a hit.
Gene was saying today how the latest protagonists in movies are anti-heroes. We used to have classic-definition heroes like James Bond - indestructible and irresistable to women, Tom Cruise - pretty boy with that vulnerable touch, Arnold Schwarzenegger - sexiest man alive and all-around badass.
These days we've advanced/regressed to heroes like Seth Rogan from Knocked Up - fat losers with Jew-fros, Jack Black from School of Rock - fat losers with body odor, and Steve Carell - idiots. And it's amazing, but after one of those movies, you actually want to be that fat smelly retarded loser! But what's really crazy is that not only you do, I do too.
The second movie was Sunshine Cleaning. This is about two girls with no skills except remembering their dead mother, who start a crime-scene-cleanup business. It's a pretty good movie, but don't go trusting IMDb that it's a comedy.
Sunshine Cleaning had more (implied) blood and headless torsos than Saving Private Ryan, so it got me thinking a bit about mortality, albeit in a sci-fi direction.
I was thinking:
If human beings were virtually immortal, if the only way they really died was by offing themselves, what do you think the average lifespan would be? I think it might be even lower than it is in our reality. Think about it. Living is a very complicated and hard habit. People are horrible at maintaining hard habits. That's why I do all these 30-day trials, because I know that it's just 30 days, it'll be over soon.
Same thing with life, it's like a long 30-day trial; you feel like an ass if you quit half-way. If there was no half-way point, you wouldn't feel so bad about quitting. When you go on a run and you say "I'm going to run 5 miles," you're going to run waaaaaaay farther than if you say "I'm going to go for a run and see how far I get." I've been saying the second one since the 5th grade and I still haven't left the couch.
Human beings are interesting in that they adhere to both the immortal and mortal states of mind. On one level, everyone acts like they're immortal - the way they live unhealthy lifestyles, the way they plan for the far far future when they might not even survive the day, and especially the way they drive. On the other hand, people know all about their own mortality. You can see this from the fact that they very rarely ask themselves "am I enjoying living?" The subconscious response to that is "whatever, I'm mortal anyway, I'll just go ahead and finish this crapola." They keep living even if they don't enjoy living at all, precisely because they're mortal.
It's kind of like when you order a meal at a restaurant. It's good, but you're full, and you feel sick, but you keep eating because you don't come here very often and today's the only day they're serving Komodo dragon. If you had free all-you-can-eat Komodo dragon ribs every day of the week, you wouldn't bother sticking feathers down your gullet mid-meal to clear up some space for the lonely leftovers on your plate. You'd throw them right down the trash chute. Same with life. If we were all immortal, we'd probably all shoot ourselves in our late twenties.
Ok, that said, don't commit suicide you lazy bastards.
By the way, Tuck Everlasting sucked. Book and movie.
Helpful friends:
Mark: 怎么说 to clean? (how do you say "to clean")
Pei: убирать
The first movie was I Love You Man. This was a pretty damn funny comedy though with a slightly far-fetched premise: Paul Rudd, sexiest man alive according to some magazine or another I'm sure, has never had a guy friend. Now his wedding/funeral is approaching/looming and he needs to find someone to be his best man. I don't buy it, but given the given, it's a hit.
Gene was saying today how the latest protagonists in movies are anti-heroes. We used to have classic-definition heroes like James Bond - indestructible and irresistable to women, Tom Cruise - pretty boy with that vulnerable touch, Arnold Schwarzenegger - sexiest man alive and all-around badass.
These days we've advanced/regressed to heroes like Seth Rogan from Knocked Up - fat losers with Jew-fros, Jack Black from School of Rock - fat losers with body odor, and Steve Carell - idiots. And it's amazing, but after one of those movies, you actually want to be that fat smelly retarded loser! But what's really crazy is that not only you do, I do too.
The second movie was Sunshine Cleaning. This is about two girls with no skills except remembering their dead mother, who start a crime-scene-cleanup business. It's a pretty good movie, but don't go trusting IMDb that it's a comedy.
Sunshine Cleaning had more (implied) blood and headless torsos than Saving Private Ryan, so it got me thinking a bit about mortality, albeit in a sci-fi direction.
I was thinking:
If human beings were virtually immortal, if the only way they really died was by offing themselves, what do you think the average lifespan would be? I think it might be even lower than it is in our reality. Think about it. Living is a very complicated and hard habit. People are horrible at maintaining hard habits. That's why I do all these 30-day trials, because I know that it's just 30 days, it'll be over soon.
Same thing with life, it's like a long 30-day trial; you feel like an ass if you quit half-way. If there was no half-way point, you wouldn't feel so bad about quitting. When you go on a run and you say "I'm going to run 5 miles," you're going to run waaaaaaay farther than if you say "I'm going to go for a run and see how far I get." I've been saying the second one since the 5th grade and I still haven't left the couch.
Human beings are interesting in that they adhere to both the immortal and mortal states of mind. On one level, everyone acts like they're immortal - the way they live unhealthy lifestyles, the way they plan for the far far future when they might not even survive the day, and especially the way they drive. On the other hand, people know all about their own mortality. You can see this from the fact that they very rarely ask themselves "am I enjoying living?" The subconscious response to that is "whatever, I'm mortal anyway, I'll just go ahead and finish this crapola." They keep living even if they don't enjoy living at all, precisely because they're mortal.
It's kind of like when you order a meal at a restaurant. It's good, but you're full, and you feel sick, but you keep eating because you don't come here very often and today's the only day they're serving Komodo dragon. If you had free all-you-can-eat Komodo dragon ribs every day of the week, you wouldn't bother sticking feathers down your gullet mid-meal to clear up some space for the lonely leftovers on your plate. You'd throw them right down the trash chute. Same with life. If we were all immortal, we'd probably all shoot ourselves in our late twenties.
Ok, that said, don't commit suicide you lazy bastards.
By the way, Tuck Everlasting sucked. Book and movie.
Helpful friends:
Mark: 怎么说 to clean? (how do you say "to clean")
Pei: убирать
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Being Japanese For A Day, Almost Always Fatal
Brilliant! : Japanese Soft Drinks, especially
and
Ok, after seeing those, I went on a brilliant-Japanese-inventions binge. Obviously these have all been displayed on various websites before, but here are my personal favorites:
Generally money-saving but could get expensive when you need to hop on a space shuttle to get some sunlight at 9PM.
This one's a double whammy. Hair blocker inside the house, fastest way to get arrested outside.
Just don't confuse it with your Krazy Glue stick.
Brilliant! Attach a stick to anything and it suddenly gains new uses. Abraham Lincoln knew what he was taking about when he told us to shut up and grab a stick. It just took us some time to interpret it right.
For those of us with shoes made of sugar or with feet alergic to water (Japanese people).
Don't use this without a chaperone, it requires inhuman flexibility to undo. This invention armed with starvation has already claimed over 10,000 Japanese lives.
The only part of your better half that you really need anyway. This invention has already halved the marriage rate in Japan.
Modeled after Mel Gibson's lap.
and
Ok, after seeing those, I went on a brilliant-Japanese-inventions binge. Obviously these have all been displayed on various websites before, but here are my personal favorites:
Generally money-saving but could get expensive when you need to hop on a space shuttle to get some sunlight at 9PM.
This one's a double whammy. Hair blocker inside the house, fastest way to get arrested outside.
Just don't confuse it with your Krazy Glue stick.
Brilliant! Attach a stick to anything and it suddenly gains new uses. Abraham Lincoln knew what he was taking about when he told us to shut up and grab a stick. It just took us some time to interpret it right.
For those of us with shoes made of sugar or with feet alergic to water (Japanese people).
Don't use this without a chaperone, it requires inhuman flexibility to undo. This invention armed with starvation has already claimed over 10,000 Japanese lives.
The only part of your better half that you really need anyway. This invention has already halved the marriage rate in Japan.
Modeled after Mel Gibson's lap.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Nightmares
I had a nightmare today for the first time in years. I won't divulge the details for I don't want to be in breach of dreamer-dreamee confidentiality, but there was one funny scene at the end that I'll risk telling.
I'm running out of the dream-setting's house, headed for my car. There's a guy chasing me by the bizzare name of Alek-Alex. This is obviously my subconscious giving me a wonderful clue that I'm in a dream, but I don't perceive it as such. Alek-Alex has two defining characteristics - his ridiculous name, and his temper problem. The dream makes it abundantly clear that you REALLY don't want Alek-Alex to "freak out." Unfortunately, Alek-Alex is about to do just that.
Anyway, I reach my car and it's some kind of mini-car, like the Smart Car but ten thousand times smaller. This doesn't phase me at all of course; there's a psycho named Alek-Alex chasing me! So I get in and I look sort of like this:
...though not quite as dashing as this fine specimen of masculinity.
After some wriggling, wiggling, waggling, writhing, worming, and loads of tongue-on-shoulder panting, around 50% of me has managed to get in the car, but my giant Mr. Olympia legs just won't fit. I feel around, praying for a button or lever that unfolds this "center for ants" into a bus and finally find a button that slides out the front of the car a bit, giving me some more legroom. There's one catch though: as soon as I let go of the button, it snaps right back at four times the speed of light. I play catch and release with the button as I shuffle my legs around, risking all kinds of horrible kneecap-to-eyeball injuries and all with no insurance, but there's absolutely no way I can get either foot to reach the pedals. For some reason the idea to hold the button down while driving doesn't even cross my mind.
At this point Alek-Alex still hasn't emerged from the house, but I'm panicking nonetheless. Alas, then I woke up, fortunately for my dream-safety but unfortunately for the story aspect.
Sometimes I wonder - when I wake up from a dream, maybe the dream me stays there and has to live out the conclusion of the story. He's never led on that this might be true; in every subsequent dream he's as good as new despite all the abuse from hordes of Alek-Alexes, but who knows? For his sake, I should be taking sleeping pills.
I'm running out of the dream-setting's house, headed for my car. There's a guy chasing me by the bizzare name of Alek-Alex. This is obviously my subconscious giving me a wonderful clue that I'm in a dream, but I don't perceive it as such. Alek-Alex has two defining characteristics - his ridiculous name, and his temper problem. The dream makes it abundantly clear that you REALLY don't want Alek-Alex to "freak out." Unfortunately, Alek-Alex is about to do just that.
Anyway, I reach my car and it's some kind of mini-car, like the Smart Car but ten thousand times smaller. This doesn't phase me at all of course; there's a psycho named Alek-Alex chasing me! So I get in and I look sort of like this:
...though not quite as dashing as this fine specimen of masculinity.
After some wriggling, wiggling, waggling, writhing, worming, and loads of tongue-on-shoulder panting, around 50% of me has managed to get in the car, but my giant Mr. Olympia legs just won't fit. I feel around, praying for a button or lever that unfolds this "center for ants" into a bus and finally find a button that slides out the front of the car a bit, giving me some more legroom. There's one catch though: as soon as I let go of the button, it snaps right back at four times the speed of light. I play catch and release with the button as I shuffle my legs around, risking all kinds of horrible kneecap-to-eyeball injuries and all with no insurance, but there's absolutely no way I can get either foot to reach the pedals. For some reason the idea to hold the button down while driving doesn't even cross my mind.
At this point Alek-Alex still hasn't emerged from the house, but I'm panicking nonetheless. Alas, then I woke up, fortunately for my dream-safety but unfortunately for the story aspect.
Sometimes I wonder - when I wake up from a dream, maybe the dream me stays there and has to live out the conclusion of the story. He's never led on that this might be true; in every subsequent dream he's as good as new despite all the abuse from hordes of Alek-Alexes, but who knows? For his sake, I should be taking sleeping pills.
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