Mr. T's Journal Entries - Day 3: A Funny Dream

9:43 PM

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I couldn’t sleep last night — I mean, I did sleep, but it wasn’t a good night’s sleep. I think leaving my job and thinking about it too much is messing with me. So, after writing something or pretending to write something, I decided to stop overthinking (as if I can control it!) and just sleep. And, as you can imagine, I had a hilarious dream.

I don’t know if I can describe it with precise details, but here it goes. I was walking down a road I take every day to my home. And then, suddenly, I was in a giant empty pit. It was huge but strangely clean. The pit had a dreamy element to it — it wasn’t like the filthy pits you usually see everywhere. It was like a freshly made pit, just for me or just for my dream.

You know how dreams are — there’s no logic, no rational chain of events. You can start at your own house with your friend and then suddenly find yourself in a swamp, sharing a meal with a crocodile. So, I was just okay with being in that pit. But then I looked up and saw a group of young women surrounding me, staring down. Honestly, it felt good. But then, one of them laughed, whispered something to the girl next to her, and then they both laughed. This created a chain reaction until all of them were laughing at me. Their laughter was synchronized, like a rehearsed performance.

But okay, leaving that aside — being a lonely, single, and highly frustrated man — I must admit, they were all extremely pretty, and their eyes were full of life. Even their laughs were pretty. I mean, smiles are pretty, but can laughs be pretty? How can laughs be pretty? But they were — so pretty.

At first, their laughter just made me uncomfortable, but then it got louder and louder until it became unbearable. I started checking my face, my clothes — anything that could explain why they were laughing. That’s when I found a blue butterfly in my pocket. She had tiny black dots on her wings, and she was looking directly at me. But how did she get into my pocket?

Never mind. I was just glad I wasn’t alone in this pit. But suddenly, I realized I was sinking deeper, the distance between me and them slowly increasing. Then, out of nowhere, one of them brought a spade and started shoveling sand over me. The others followed, burying me alive. The butterfly looked at me, shook her head, and flew away.

I remember struggling to breathe before I finally woke up. I saw my empty room — I was both relieved and sad.

It was 5:30 in the morning. And I clearly remember my mother used to say that morning dreams are supposed to come true. I was sweating like a pig — not that I actually know how pigs sweat or if they even have similar pores to us, but whatever.

So, I did what I could — I went to Gracy’s downstairs. 7 AM. She was half-asleep on the couch, watching an ad about some magic belt that makes you slim. I used to see these ads too, mostly at midnight.

I told her everything. She listened kindly, with full sincerity. And then she said something I’ll always remember. She said:

“Huh.”

That really inspired me. In fact, now, after hours of thinking, I fully understand what she was trying to communicate with that single “Huh.” She was saying, “It’s just a dream. If the beautiful ones don’t turn into reality, then why should the bad ones?”

It was a solid point. But I had a counterargument, which I chose not to voice because I didn’t want to crush her spirit. My argument? I’ve never had a beautiful dream.

Like, ever. I mean, I’ve had dreams, but none of them were the kind I’d want to turn into reality. In fact, even dreams have high standards. You see, dreams have high standards too, and they judge you with their sneaky, invisible eyes.

All I have are memories of my mother.

Anyway, I checked my bank balance — just a fraction less than yesterday’s, obviously. I had bought some groceries. Made the same breakfast for Gracy — bread and omelet. But today, I did something fun.

I washed my clothes. Yes, finally. After a whole month. You can judge me, but I don’t sweat much — at least, not in real life. Can’t say the same about dreams.

Also, fun fact: I realized my bedsheet actually changes color after two months. I started with a white bedsheet with black polka dots. Now, the white has turned into a very questionable shade of yellow. The black, of course, remains black — because black doesn’t change into anything. But I don’t know. I’m no color expert.

Anyway, now that I’ve washed everything, I feel good. Oh wait — maybe I’m missing something?

Oh, right. My clothes are still in the dryer. Which means if I go outside now, I’ll have to spend an hour hunting mosquitoes when I come back. Maybe I’ll just have to wash them again.

I never realized quitting my job could be this much fun.

And don’t worry — Gracy is still alive. And no, I didn’t give her rice to eat tonight.

Signing off,
Mr. T