some douche called this morning to yell in my ear about something that wasn't our fault, but he would have any of that.

"i want a phone number, not a website."

"that's all i have."

"..."

"okay give me the website. oh yes, that's printed on the back of this flyer."

and then he just hung up on me. nothing incites more rage in me (okay, maybe a few things, but right now, just this) than being hung up on.

last night i had some fucked up dreams. i was so tired that i actually became untired (like drinking yourself sober except this is actually possible) and had trouble sleeping. in and out of apocalyptic, war-of-the-worlds-esque not-quite nightmares, sprinkled with demonic possession of my mother whose demon face actually looked like someone in Gwar. but i couldn't be sure since i only got the profile view.

if i was a kid i'd have been still scared, but it really didn't bother me that much (except being inside of it and not aware that it was indeed a dream, though come to think of it it all seemed pretty run-of-the-mill). i got up and went to the washroom, returned for more sleep...

inside more sleep i found a beyond-sight-high building which housed a grocery store at the bottom. i guess because of the apocalypse they locked up all their carts, because i tried to scale that barrier wall (to get mom a cart)(of course a barrier wall, what else would there be?), but it was tilted towards me and i surely would have careened to my cartless death. on the way out of the building i saw the cart lift made only for carts with piles of bent and broken ones lying at the base. i guess the machine was jammed with BODY PARTS... or something. you know, from the tripod aliens.

p.s. it's a loonie for shopping carts at zeller's, now. still a good price for a cart.