NIGHT TERRORS 2012

Night Terrors 2012 chapter eternity . . .



     What a night of demise and manipulation.  What the H-e-double hockey stick was coming out of my subconscious?   Dr. Drew, where are you?  When is the last time I dreamed about the Flip-Flop peeper?
    Yeah, so I awake in my dream in the middle of the pitch black night to a farting sound coming from the other side of my balcony screen door . . . It is pitch black outside as well, because the screen to door boundaries are in a negative color mode.  The door frame is fluorescent bluish and the screens are rigid black.  The sound coming from the other side was a ridiculous condescending flatulence impression.  The flip-flop peeper (you can figure out the name).
     I was angry.  I tried to move with a purpose, but mind and body were not one, but two.  Slow motion with an intent to punish . . . I hate when this happens.  Weakness; total and solitary weakness at the time when it is needed less.  I move like a turtle on wall to wall flypaper.  My punches will feel like pity pats.  My vision is tunneled.  I manage to pull myself out of bed and construct my torso and such to withstand fast movement . . . run out on the balcony; it must happen.
     So I do it!  I am on the balcony-my vision is blurry-a figure to the side of me-me yelling obscenities-lunging toward the flip-flop peeper . . .  and I promptly awake to the real(ity) world still in my bed staring at that balcony door.  Good Morning, sunshine.