Friday, June 03, 2005


In my dream I am standing in a glass booth.

Unable to escape because I am tethered to a room full of machines all bleeping and humming and recording, I look down and see that I am in nothing but pajama bottoms. I need not feel exposed though as I am covered in a myriad patches and probes.

My desire to flee from all this testing and prodding is only exacerbated by the fact that all round me, peering in through the glass booth are various friends and family. My beloved boyfriend.

Help me I mouth. At the top of my voice, but for some reason, no sound emanates from my parched lips.

And then, the bloodletting begins. The doctors/scientists/torturers beging to harvest pints and pints of blood from me, tubes coming from every available vein on my upper body. As my life flow starts to ebb and wane from my body I feel weak and every thing takes on a slow-mo effect as my knees begin to slowly buckle. And just as I slip into unconsciousness I see them all with looks of concern, whispering 'it's for your own good'.

I am reminded of the teen slasher movies where the promqueen always gets it. Thank heaven for the irony of my moniker...these days it seems that the only dreams I remember are ones that take on a twist of the macabre.

posted by ParanoidPromQueen

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