July 9, 2012
I have pretty vivid dreams. I generally attribute this to my medication regimen, though I have a pretty good recollection of my dreaming habits before I started aforementioned regimen, so maybe I’ve always been an active dreamer.
Last night was no exception. I had this dream that started out with me running up a hill to see a road being built. Why my brain decided that this would be the opening act is up to neuroscience (or Miss Cleo…did she do dream analysis?) to discover.
I guess while I’m running up the hill I’m timing myself for some world record in hill-running, or something. But I don’t get the record because I’ve stopped to help some girl who is carrying something up the hill. The details are fuzzy. It is a dream, after all.
So me and this girl meet cute (I remember she was blonde, which is odd, because I don’t like blondes, but all my girlfriends have been blonde except one. I guess blondes like me???) and there’s like a montage of us talking and getting closer but it’s all mashed together in the way only dreams and serious benders are.
She has to leave for work, but I realize I forgot to get her number, so I go to the restaurant to get it, and get into an argument with the manager about seeing her. Man, was this guy ever a dick. I get to see her in the end and get her number and all is right with the world.
The feeling pervading this dream was of total love and connection, something I haven’t felt in the real world in a long time. It felt so real. It felt like what I felt when the probably love-of-my-life and I met in person for the first time. The Universe felt the need to put 2000 miles between us, of course. Thanks, The Universe, you really did me a solid there ):^(
Anyways, the feeling of this dream was so intense and real that I can’t shake it even now, though it’s mellowed from joy to melancholy as after all that intense dream feeling I woke up alone. At the moment, with no job, no woman (no woman I can touch or hold or smell or look at, anyways), no structure to my day, my dreams are all I have. It’s sad to let them go.
So that’s my bellyaching done. Now on to MYSTERY TEA.
I made Mystery Tea #2 (the one in the green can) for Tea Club yesterday, and it was pretty good. Sort of sweet and kind of fishy-tasting (I guess the nice way to say that would be “marine”). It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t pants-shittingly awful, either.
Unlike mystery tea #2…
Look at these itty-bitty leaves and tell me you don’t think that’s gonna be a good tea:
But it turns out it was a gaiwan full of LIQUID DEATH ASS.
The tea was so bitter it actually made me gag, the mouthfeel was akin to gargling with a mixture of kitty litter and cough syrup, and the infusion itself slipped down my throat like an incontinent eel. Everything about this tea was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Did I brew it wrong? Probably. But this infusion was so god-awful that I find it hard to believe that any goodness lurked within these leaves. Jesus Christ and Bhudda too, it was like going through a war. I’m so very glad I used up all the leaves, because I never EVER want to even think about this vile concoction again.
This tea killshitted my taste buds so thoroughly that the next tea I brewed (Himalayan Spring Evergreen) was, even though I brewed it badly, so much better that I almost cried with happiness. Then immediately gagged again remembering the taste of the Satan Tea. God.
If you could have seen my face when I drank this, you would have laughed your ass off. Then felt very bad for me suffering through this…this…it’s not even tea. It’s a war crime.
*Only very slightly hyperbolic. This tea was THAT BAD