I love getting emails from fans that say: "Tarquin, your Reindeer Droppings blog was so funny. You made my morning." I like them so much, I reread them every night. Christmas is almost here, and while I should be glad that I, Tarquin Churchwell, made it through another year without getting arrested, I'm feeling kind of blue. I don't know if it's the crappy gray sky, the cold, or missing therapy this week. Even writing hate posts and eating the perfect sugar-free gummy bear (thanks, Lylah!) haven't gotten me out of the rut.
My legal work at SUS is on the back burner, since a real lawyer threatened to sue me. There is the rent coming up, and thinking about that makes me nervous. The confusion over everything has created problems with sleeping and my dreams are weird. Last night, I combined all my hatred for women, SUS, and the world into one figgy pudding of dreaming.
In the dream, I had just talked to the SUS staff. My lease brouhaha was winding down (no thanks to me), and it was looking like I might have to pay my rent! I needed money, so I looked online. I ended up getting a job (!) with a police crime unit. I was hired to be a special interrogator. My daily assignment: a squirmy blond suspect would go down on me, and from her "chomp", I would learn all these facts about her. "She's 22, listens to Snoop Dog, is missing a back molar, and loves Wheaties," I would tell the Police Captain, as the suspect lifted her head from between my thighs. "She's a graduate of PS 169 in the Bronx, and she is lying about not hitting her husband over the head with a tire iron." My authority was never questioned, and the grammar school graduate was thrown in jail for murder. But instead of feeling good about my "interrogation," I had the creepy feeling that she had tasted me without flossing.
After this dream, I woke up with a headache. And now there's two more weeks without therapy. God help us all.
My legal work at SUS is on the back burner, since a real lawyer threatened to sue me. There is the rent coming up, and thinking about that makes me nervous. The confusion over everything has created problems with sleeping and my dreams are weird. Last night, I combined all my hatred for women, SUS, and the world into one figgy pudding of dreaming.
In the dream, I had just talked to the SUS staff. My lease brouhaha was winding down (no thanks to me), and it was looking like I might have to pay my rent! I needed money, so I looked online. I ended up getting a job (!) with a police crime unit. I was hired to be a special interrogator. My daily assignment: a squirmy blond suspect would go down on me, and from her "chomp", I would learn all these facts about her. "She's 22, listens to Snoop Dog, is missing a back molar, and loves Wheaties," I would tell the Police Captain, as the suspect lifted her head from between my thighs. "She's a graduate of PS 169 in the Bronx, and she is lying about not hitting her husband over the head with a tire iron." My authority was never questioned, and the grammar school graduate was thrown in jail for murder. But instead of feeling good about my "interrogation," I had the creepy feeling that she had tasted me without flossing.
After this dream, I woke up with a headache. And now there's two more weeks without therapy. God help us all.
