[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.

Journal Entry 1: Today was shit. Everything is shit. I fell walking out of the elevator and dropped my phone down the shaft, causing a 30 minute hunt for a phone that was, of course, shattered. Started Sudoku. Surprise, did not finish Sudoku! There’s not much on TV and no new hits on my blog. Taxi cab driver wore the Axe body spray that the douchebag I live with is soaked in on a day to day basis. He won’t leave me alone concerning the rent. I told him three times that I’d have it Friday. What I didn’t tell him was that my ghost response email back to my asshole boss and moronic coworkers might have been read over my shoulder. New developments in the Facebook software that we tried to sell to that Jewy dentistry won’t catch. They’re a lost cause. On second thought it might be me who is drenched in the smell of that aerosol shittery he calls cologne. Fuck. I’m going to sleep.

Journal Entry 2: Lost my job. Lost. My. Fucking. Job. I did what every piece of shit ‘badass’ song says to do and finally stood up to my boss.

“They didn’t have a chance to begin with, Mike! If a company really needs help with social media, they’re gonna fail sooner or later. Fuck. They’re out of touch, conservative-driven, backwards-ass, Jewish nobodies that overcharge and underperform.” Man, I’m good with words.

Turns out I’m incredible with observation too. Mike GOLDBERG is Jewish. Who would have thought? That might’ve been the wrong approach, but the guy’s a prick anyways. He doesn’t get it. Nobody gets it. I mean, for shit’s sake, if a company is going to pay for software with an algorithm that generates ghost “likes” for popularity, then they weren’t going to make it in the first place. I could write an algorithm but Game of Thrones is on.

Journal Entry 3: Lights out. My idiot of a roommate, or ex-roommate I guess, moved in with his skank of a girlfriend and wouldn’t ya know, they cut the power three days later. Hell, I’d always wanted to go to the coffee shop on the corner of Linden and Madison for the free WiFi, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity.
I gotta find money somehow.
Sarah called today, checking in like she always does. Must be nice living in Illinois, nothing to worry about. Actually, nothing to do at all. Wait, no that sounds like shit. Good for her, though. I haven’t even seen her youngest daughter, or I guess my niece? What was I writing about? Money? Shit! That’s going to be a bitch. Good thing I bought that six dollar latte to sip on while I wallowed. The same six dollar latte looked even better when my laptop cord knocked it all over my keyboard. Could’ve done without that. I left the laptop in the trash and two dollars in the tip jar. Am I seriously retarded? Now I’m freezing my ass off on the patio from my 9th floor apartment. The newspaper that I swiped from the coffee shop (that I can’t show my face in anymore) is resting at my feet. Might pick it up for the Sudoku, gotta do something to keep my brain sharp.

Brain dull, Sudoku hard.

Nothing in the classifieds and I’m obviously not watching Game of Thrones without power. There was this weird ad about some scientific testing. Those guys are whack-jobs. Still, it promised 500 bucks a week and a thousand extra a month for the next three months. I don’t know. I’ll call cousin Denny tomorrow for a job. I mean he hires 16 year-olds to dip cookies I’m sure I could do the same.

Journal Entry 6: Lost my job, again. Ate more cookies than I dipped. So fucking hungry. Fuck you Denny.

Journal Entry 7: Good thing I saved that newspaper ad. I have no money left. I’m sitting on the floor, freezing my ass off right now to kind of paint a picture for ya. I had to sell my shit on Craigslist so I could pay for a new phone. When’s the last time I ate? Shit those cookies sound good.

When I called in, a woman answered the phone. Actually, a dipshit answered the phone. You wouldn’t believe how stupid she was. I think I knew more about the tests than she did. Basically, I guess all they gotta do is have me take some pill and then that’s it. Nothing crazy, something about how it actually cured PTSD. Craziest part was what she said when she answered: Facebook Network, this is… Ah hell, her name doesn’t matter. I did have to laugh about the Facebook thing. I wonder if she’s Jewish, too. In all seriousness, I got all signed up and good thing, too, because apparently it starts tomorrow.

Journal Entry 8: Age, eye color, height. Why the hell did they need that? I sure as shit didn’t give them my social security number. Actually, I’m pretty bad at all of the formal crap. Mom always filled out the doctor visits up til’ 18 and I guess since then, I’ve gotten by on NyQuil and OJ.

When I finally finished the waiver, I handed it to the lady at the counter. Is this the same one I talked to on the phone? She smiled at me and said, “Room 204A.” Why was she smiling? Is her life really good enough that she thinks she can smile at a total stranger? Idiot. I forgot what room I was going to. I wandered around for about 10 minutes. Of course, 204A was the only place with a light on.

When I got into the room, I could tell I was late because everyone turned around and looked at me. Everyone except the one girl beside the wall in the front row. She was in a white, floral dress with jet black hair. Her pale skin and purple lipstick worked well together. I crossed the room and sat down next to her. The guy at the front paused until I sat down, and then proceeded to walk us through the front page of the pamphlet sitting on the desks in front of us. He seemed like an asshole. This was the point where I realized that I didn’t really know what I had bought in to. You know how you go through a process and kind of blank out? And when you go back in your memory to check the details, there’s nothing worthwhile so you start to panic? Well, I was definitely panicking. But that girl next to me was being cool, so I kept a lid on it.

The guy’s voice faded out as I flipped through the pages of the packet. Lots of big words that these guys use to confuse you, think they’re all high and mighty. But I eventually got through it, at least the parts I felt like reading. The packet said that I’d be given a pill. I had to take this pill before bed and then come back tomorrow and say if I felt any different. After that, I’d come in every Friday and answer their questions. This sort of stuff creeps me out, but I need that money. The guy said something about not eating with it. Then he kept going on and on about PTSD or Schizophrenia or some shit. Some fat guy towards the back raised his hand up, like we were all in the fucking third grade again, and asked, “When will we see effects?” The lab-coat asshole peered over his clipboard and said, “It varies by subject.”

I got home and didn’t have much of shit to do since I don’t have food or power. I dug this candle out from a box in the closet. Vanilla Peach? Jesus. I’m going to steal the paper from my neighbor’s doorway. I need some furniture back.

I’m taking the pill now. I take it every night apparently. For three months. Shit, the hell with it. I only have to go back in once a week. Not too bad.

Journal Entry 9: Jesus Christ. Last night was the longest night of sleep I’ve ever had. Not long like I felt rested, just… long. I don’t know how to explain it, so I guess I’ll just talk about my dream.

I woke up in my bed, got dressed and went out to the kitchen. I knew it was a dream because there was food in all the cupboards. I headed out the front door of my apartment and down the elevator. There was a lady in there with her daughter. Can’t believe I remember that. Anyways, I’m walking out the door when I look down and see the newspaper. The paper was blank, which I thought was strange, but I somehow forgot it just as quickly. From there, I walked to my office, which I guess I still worked at, only it wasn’t my office when I got there. Instead, it was a dinner party with my sister. She looked at me, and just like everyone else, didn’t say a thing. This is where it starts to get weird. The next thing I know, I decide that I need to go on a hunting trip, but I’m not the one calling the shots. I’m walking back home, packing a bag and taking a shower without meaning to. I felt like I was actually doing it, but whenever I tried to do something else, I couldn’t. Once my bag was packed, I walked through my kitchen and out the door, not locking it behind me. I hit the button for the elevator, and the same girl was standing there in the corner. I asked her what she was doing all alone. She looked up at me, but before I could see her face, I woke up.

I had a couple other insignificant dreams, too. One about me snowboarding and another one where I was getting tacos with Sarah. One had me back in the good ol’ days playing football, and I actually did every single play. But what kind of bothers me is how I didn’t just appear in the dreams. I actually had to get to every one of these events from the previous dream. Whatever, weird night. I gotta go back in to run tests on that pill.

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