To the BATMOBILE

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

wonderland?

Ah dreams... The stuff of fairytales, peaceful meadows, sheep and a couple of horses. As my nights become increasingly troubled as of late (further elaborated later on, no doubt) I cannot quite place my finger onto what is causing such disturbances. Examination stress comes to mind, although my meals (prepared by yours truly as of late) might just clinch it. Consuming peanut butter & cheese sandwiches or strawberry jam and banana slices with the odd dashing of ground coffee beans (what am I - Starbucks? My dear mother makes the coffee, not me...) would be classified under gastronomical oddities.

While "strange" is objective, when your last conscious memory was staring at diagrams of the human digestive system while Three Door Down's "Here Without You" plays in the background, and suddenly you find yourself on a train bound for Amsterdam with the only other people in your immediate surroundings being black leather-clad men (the leather, not the men), you would find it a touch surreal.

I didn't. Between a desperately needed revision of Biology and what seemed to be a train bound for a Scandinavian "Village People" reunion, I'd take my chances with Boy George and boyfriends. I'm sure you would too.

Thankfully enough, some higher power must exist in dreams as well, for as we pulled into the next stop, the doors opened in a hiss of steam and out of the mists stepped a demure looking beauty, gothic attire and all. While her choice of clothes (and everyone around me) was a cause for concern (hold the "Village People" thought, things were starting to look at little more hardcore than I thought), her bright blue eyes met my Biology-induced bloodshot vision, and joyous echoes of seraphims sounded in the air, only to be accompanied by a rendition of Meatloaf's "Bat out of Hell". (I swear by my soul that this is nothing but the truth. It is nothing but a dream after all - life is cruel like that...)

As it turned out, I found out I was on my way to meet my father's colleague - he worked in a Norwegian company - and spend a night partying in Amsterdam (Pardon, me? Sin? Never!) or something along those lines. Somewhere along the way, I lost the plot, and to my great fortune, the girl and I (I neglected to mention she was running away from home), found ourselves shivering, without shelter in a bus shelter in the harsh harsh world of Amsterdam. Though admittedly I have never been anywhere near the place, nor have I any idea what it's like apart from a few books worth of knowledge and a vivid imagination of pink neon lights, a building that looked very much like Harrod's, prostitutes (the day that I cease to dream about prostitutes would be one to remember I tell you. Mind you, this variety is closer associated with the Homo Erectus - no pun intended, than you and me) and lots of snow.

And as she turned her face towards mine (and didn't flinch! That's a first), and we huddled together for warmth, she breathed into my ear in her sweet delectable accent "I l-" and I was rudely awakened to reality by my dog chewing on my left big toe. I have never come so close to killing the bastard before.

Heart aching once more, and I turn my head to the general direction of the north-west (and hopefully Amsterdam), I gaze forlornly at the stars above, thinking "I ought to be studying Literature now", and so I shall. But first, a concoction of raisins, peanut butter and maybe a spoonful more of coffe beans slapped in between two slices of bread ought to do the trick. Wish me luck - for Literature and tonight.

Until then, my scandinavian sweetheart!
TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 7:42 pm
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