So, it turns out that drinking a bunch of coffee in order to sober up is a far worse idea than just being a little drunk when you go to sleep.

It also turns out that drinking a bunch of whiskey does not counteract the coffee and make you sleepy, but instead wakes you up more and also makes you even more drunk.

Drinking makes me blog.

Not smoking weed makes me blog.

Having really shitty days does not often make me blog, for some reason.

Having really good days makes me blog about shitty things, for some reason.

Talking to you makes me blog. I'm not sure if it's because I'd like to continue our conversations or because it reminds me that I can ramble and ramble and ramble, and eventually someone not directly involved in whatever I am rambling about and generally non-judgemental will come along and read it, thusly making me feel like I don't spend all of my time just talking to myself.

Staying up past midnight almost always makes me blog. I'm not too sure why this is, but suspect that my brain just gives up on giving me tired signals. Then, as you may have noticed over the last few hundred posts, I get bored, and here we are.

Being depressed makes me blog. I'm moderately sure depression and intense boredom are the same thing, actually.

Being manic also makes me blog. Sometimes it seems like there's just too much going on in my head and I need to deposit some of it somewhere. I've heard some interesting theories on the ability of male brains to compartmentalize pretty much anything as the need be, but I do not appear to have this ability, either because I have a little ADD, or, more likely, because the redonkculous amount of pot I smoke has done something unpleasant to my brain.

Sometimes blogging makes me depressed or manic. There's something unhealthy about too much active self-analyzation, just like too much of anything else.

Sometimes I listen to Sublime when I blog. Sometimes I listen to Immortal Technique while I blog. Sometimes I listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd while I blog. Sometimes I listen to Amanda Marshall while I blog. Sometimes, when I'm pretty absorbed by what I'm writing, I'll even accidentally listen to the Shitty Beatles or Led Zepplin when they roll up in the playlist.

Sometimes, I start to blog about something, then realize I don't fully understand it, then get so involved in learning new things about whatever topic that I forget I was blogging in the first place and end up with even more useless trivia I will never need.

I used to be able to dream the future before I started getting nightmares. I still do sometimes. I think some people would call it dejavue, and frankly I would too, except that as with everything else in my life, all my dreams that seem important are usually committed to paper the same day I have them. Perhaps I am merely an impressionable fool, but it would seem as though having written records of things that happen anywhere from days to years later, exactly as written, is a good way to convince yourself that your dreams are at least worth paying attention to.

I will have each dream exactly once. If I have it more than once, it is just a dream. If everything occurring is a regular event and everything in the dream is a familiar object, rather than people or things I do not remember ever seeing before, there's a pretty good chance it is just a dream. If the dream is not in the third person, as in I'm watching myself and whatever is going on, then it will usually just be a dream. If I become aware I'm dreaming or can exercise any control over what's happening, then I am likely dreaming. Though it would be kind of natural to assume anything that seems highly unlikely or overtly dreamlike would be a sure sign of just a dream, having now spent a day dancing in mud with a really, really pretty girl and yelling about my dick in shitty German over the din of a live country band to some Swiss cowboys leaning up against a cattle fence in the middle of an arena with spotlights on us and everyone watching as we are the first couple dancing, I have to say that maybe life just changes enough that something I would have written off as pretty damned implausible may not actually be the case in four years.

I don't think it's any kind of psychic ability, or magic. It's likely explainable as some strange phenomena of overactive perception, or as some kind of subconscious interaction with a non-linear timeline as some "encompassing" physics theories that are probably a little beyond my complete comprehension, let alone ability to explain.

I frankly have never been too interested in the mechanics behind it. These sorts of dreams have mostly been displaced by others, and while it may seem like this could be some kind of handy ability, most of these types of dreams are pretty mundane - it's not really all that helpful to know that you foresaw cutting your hand on the store's brand new Taylor Target display six months ago, especially when you've completely forgotten about it until it occurs and you go back to double check.

Maybe I'm just nuts. It's been a weird night. It's been a weird life, really.

There are some definite upsides to the whole thing.

I know how I will die, or rather, I know what it will feel like to die, and have tried to extrapolate what's caused it based on that feeling. I do not know how I get there, when it happens, or what leads up to it, or even where I am, as it's one of the rare times I am looking out from my own body. I can easily separate this dream from others for a few reasons. It is a dream I have only had the once, where I will usually dream about dying for a few days straight. It is the only death dream I have had no control over despite eventually becoming aware it was not actually the present reality, and most significantly in my mind, it's the only dream I've ever had of dying where I haven't instantly "respawned" the second I die and continued dreaming. After I died, there was nothing but a conscious blackness until my alarm went off several long hours later.

It might not be completely evident as to why knowing how I die is any kind of upside, so perhaps I shall rephrase: I know how I won't die. I am not a big risk taker, but it's morbidly helpful when I am really depressed to know that things will obviously pick up, as it does not appear that I off myself. When I was not doing overly well a few years ago and was drinking ALOT, I proved this to my satisfaction twice. It would appear that so long as I lead a decent life, what happens will be completely unavoidable in roughly two to four decades, and when my number is up, it's up. If I fail to lead a good life, then it could come much sooner but would appear so circumstantially specific that it would have to be kind of deserved. Either way, it's kind of nice to know things will generally work out, at least until... well, they don't, hah.

It would be nice to be able to dream more about things I want to.

I'd like to know when my father will die so that I can be with him.
I'd like to know some winning lottery numbers for some pretty obvious reasons.
I'd like to know what sort of thing I'm supposed to be doing with my life.
I'd like to know that there's something more worthwhile than what I'm doing right now.

This, I think, is what I was really looking to talk about, because the exactness of this particular little dejavue thing tonight has got me thinking about it.

I have no plans for any future. I can't see myself anywhere, doing anything, with anyone. I don't really NEED to see myself as such, because I truly believe I will be about as happy as I seem to be capable of most of the time so long as I'm physically intact.

I'm not quite at where I want to be with this yet, but it's like 5 in the morning, and I'd like to go cuddle up to my lady for a bit before she has to go to work. Till next time!