I brought one of my favorite Gary Numan cds to work with me tonight, hoping it would aid me in blocking out Eleanore’s persistent phone-bitching which lasts approximately 75% of the shift.
So far, it’s doing a smashing job, and has earned a bonus by providing the perfect soundtrack while I worked on the poem for my Elizabeth Bathory Christmas card.
One of things that has always struck a chord with me about this CD is the line “your nightmare is breathing.” I fell asleep to one of his albums once, sans “Cars”-homaging with the Tubeway Army, a long time ago, and one of the worst nightmares of my life ensued.
I was roller skating at night around a neighborhood that was unfamiliar but I seemed to know it well in my dream. I realized I was near a house that I was interested in renting (in real life, as well), so I skated up to it and let myself into the front porch. It was still scattered with boxes belonging to the previous owners. I stepped around them, wanting to peek into the window to get a look inside the house, when I noticed a young black-haired girl squatting in a corner.
The sight of her jolted me, but I laughed when I realized she was just a kid. I said hello and she returned it, using my name.
“How do you know my name?” I asked.
“Marcy told me.” Her eyes lit up with flames and I woke up.
The next day, in real life, the realtor called and told me he was accepting my application, and I’ve lived there ever since.
With my breathing nightmare, <a href=”http://sinistermitch.livejournal.com”>Marcy</a>.
Ed. Note: I’ve always thought that Gary Numan knew what was up, because he also has a song called “She’s Got Claws” and could any title be more appropos of my Satanic cat?