and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

It's a Cruel, Cruel Summer, Bananarama would tell us and boy are they right this year. It's hot, hot, and more hot and they're reporting 58% humidity and if they think I believe that for one goddamn second then they are wrong wrong wrong.

It's not the heat, it's the humidity.

Yah? Well fuck you and your humidity, I just feel like shit. That's the bottom line. Me. Shit.

I have a big goopy situation downstairs and my neck is slick with wet and I'm even in an air conditioned office.

Damn air conditioning. That doesn't fix anything. Air Conditioning is evil just like Chicken.

Don't trust the chicken.

Or the AC

AC is for whiners and has-beens and couldn't-cut-it's and californians. I'm none of the three.

Oh, I'm sorry? Did you say something? Fuck you too.

--------

So.. that having been said, onto bigger and brighter things. Like how completely and utterly psychotic a seemingly normal human being (aka: me) can get.

I called the doktor again, it being a week after the last call and it being that I wasn't around all weekend and I didn't run into her at trivia night and why the hell not, right? I don't like playing games. Don't get me wrong, I'll play.. I'll show up. I'll lace up. I'll get up. But I won't play with as much enthusiasm as a lotta people out there do. You know, the people with the Star Trek trilogy on a shelf next to their tv who also played football in high school? Yah.. those people try a lot harder than me. Okay, I digress. I called her. Left a message and told her to call my ass back cause I wasn't playing games like that and if she wanted to get anywhere with this one she better sit up, pay attention, and take notes. Okay, I just told her to call me. Whatever. The point is what her machine said to me.

See, I'm intimately familiar with this machine by this point. This was call number three, in fact, so when things weren't quite what I was used to I perked up and payed attention. At first listen it really was pretty much the same message, but my spidey senses picked up a slight change in tone, a bit lighter color, a smidgen more energy. She went through the same old rigamaroll:

Hey, I'm not around so if you leave your name, a short message, and your number, I'll get back to you

But what caught my ear, what pricked my brain, was the little chuckle after and your number. It hadn't been there before, I'm sure of it. Before it was just a tired repetitive and your number like she'd said it a million times before (which I'm sure she had) but now, today, there is the slightest chuckle. It's not even a chuckle in it's own right but sort of fell out of the backside of the word number like the it got jumpy in her mouth. Ever so slight, yah see?

So, "The significance?" you might ask. And right you are to ask because the significant difference in the two previous messages that I had left were just that: my number.

In message number one I was polite, to the point, and told her to give me a call.. left my number clear as a whistle.. and I did, indeed, get a call back the very next day.

In message number two I forewent the number as I thought she would, of course, have recorded it down in ink for all of time to see and have if and when it was needed. Maybe I was wrong. I never did get a call back from that one.

And now this. A slight chuckle. A chortle. A hiccup in what was otherwise a normal and complete answering machine message.

Yes yes. I am psychotic. I prefaced this with that very statement, so don't come complaining to me. I know.