I had a dream last night, during my four hours of sleep. I dreamed I was late for work at the fabulous Sanderson Centre, I was about five hours late. But then I woke up, and it was 4:00 am, and I went to the Sanderson Centre on time and worked for five hours instead. Instead of being in a mildly enjoyable state of unconsciousness in my warm bed, I was hauling my weight in cable out of big black boxes with lots of white lettering on them. Instead, I was singeing my fingertips on hot Source 4 lamps, instead I was being bossed around like an incompetent dweeb by ignorant road managers for a crappy show. Why was I doing all this before I usually wake up? Money. Money, which is a dream of so many of this earth. "If only I had money, things would all be different." Ha. Ha and ha-ha. Money is evil, and makes us serve it an love it and worship it and lust for it. Money means little to me, but drives the forces "behind" me, such as my parents. If I make a little money, they leave me alone for a little while. That is good, but does not mean money is good. I cough and hack and wheeze as I sit here writing this, and money does not make me feel better. What would feel good is if I was asleep, dreaming I was late for work. That would feel good. Money buys me Lemon-Honey cough drops, that is something I guess, but I do not feel good. Money buys me Dristan and Sinutab and many other wonderful works of magic and science, but I do not feel good. These things make me feel better. But not... good. What is life if you are not enjoying it? Not good. I would rather be sleeping with no money rather than awake with much. That is my dream.
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