#i tired a different colour mixing process this time.... didnt work so i just. had to go back to the way i did before. oh well.

[istherewifiinhell]

But wifi, how many times are you gonna make the same cake?? Well. Its different this time. I'll use a different pan, theres gonna be layers, not quadrants... whole new thing.

SO THE THING IS, we had an accident at the mutant turtle cake factory. YIPPEE [explodes]

[ID from alt: 1. A bundt cake in orange, blue purple and red, from above. The top of the cake is uneven and torn. The different colours form almost concentric blobs. 2. The bottom of the cake pan, with the top of the cake that broke off. Its mostly orange and blue. 3. The cake with a neon green glaze. 4. A slice of cake, the colours are wild swirl. END ID]

So anyway. Happy late 4 weekiversy, and/or early one monthiversy for the mutant mayhem trailer. However you prefer to count.

[in-paradox-space]

That dream keeps coming back to me.

Everything I do, I think of it.

I was in an evening class that I’m taking this year. I was late at usual, I always miss education. I don���t show up half the time. So I had to write down and retain every single thing that was being said. 

I have to catch up from what is implied in the context. I also have to work to compensate for what I’ll miss in my next absent lesson.

Quickly jotting down and scribbling. In pencil. It’s messy. Watching the teachers movements, she didn’t want us to write at that point but I had to retain it. 

This girl next to me, she was crying. I must’ve known for a while but it’s all hazy. 

Fat girl, same age, wearing a white shirt. Kind of like a school shirt. 

I didn’t even process the fact that she was fat in the dream. Maybe the subconscious of my subconscious picked it up but I wasn’t acknowledging it for a second.

I knew I had just 5 minutes to quickly write everything I had to and more until the lesson began properly. Comprehending it and shortening to keywords, underlining the pieces that I’d need to learn later.

 I knew she was crying. She was at my right side, next to me. She was on the end of the long extension of 2 person table/desks. Typical white classroom, those curved, hard plastic chairs. It’s like a white, hard, wooden/plastic table with that little pebble-dashed pale grey pattern on it. The window was to the right, behind her. It lead onto a kind of road, in my dream the room for the classroom was in an industrial area but that’s just how it goes.

That’s just how it goes.

So, I knew I needed to do my work. I also knew it was my duty to try to make sure she’s alright.

I ignored her for about a minute, tried to prioritize what I wrote. I was thinking, I’ll speak to her afterwards.

The classroom kept going on, I felt guilty, sort of conscious that other people may notice that I’m just ignoring this girl who is in tears, in tatters.

I glanced at her to assess the situation.

White shirt collar, open kind of wide in a comfortable, unrestricted manner. She had some bits of pink fleece and grey kind of high school jumper material, mixed together in dream fog. I don’t know if I saw her with a white shirt on because it’s an association from high school or if that’s just what her style is like.

She had lightish brown hair, the kind that looks like a matte, disheveled grey. It’s not technically grey, it’s brown. Not like old grey. I would tell everyone that their hair is grey - when I was younger - because to me it only looks like grey. If you put them next to someone with brown hair they look different. They didn’t like it when I said their hair looks grey. They said it’s brown; that baffled me. I didn’t understand why nobody acknowledged it

but yeah, in that sunlight it looked grey; a little greasy and sort of held back in a bobble.

She was absolutely balling her eyes out. Folder and papers on a desk, her face is slipping in and out of her hand, bottom lip opening and closing in the air to make way for the sound of her incessant crying.

I knew I couldn’t ignore it, but I went back to writing it down. My undereyes kept tensing, it was maybe painful. Knowing that I’m actively ignoring her while I hear her cries meshing in to the humdrum of the classroom.

I dropped my pen onto the desk; I couldn’t ignore it. I asked her what’s up?  She kept on crying. Normally I wouldn’t do this but it was a dream, I put my arm around her, let her know she’s not alone through human contact. I asked “what’s wrong? Are you okay?” (something like that) my arm resting into the light squishiness of her back, hand growing warmer on her shoulder. She couldn’t really get the words out, ‘its just’, still sobbing and hiding her face. I was telling her its ok, trying to comfort her. My chair was touching hers, I was embracing her from my side. 

So she told me something like: ‘your writing. It’s so perfect. The grammar. There’s not a single problem with your grammar, how is it so flawless. You know just what to write, you’re so smart’. My handwriting was a total mess. It was like a bomb hit the page. Like I was writing it on a bus. Just some keywords, messy underlinings and a couple of quick half-sentences. There was hardly any grammar there. I think she was referring to the Korean writing though (it’s a Korean class I go to at uni once a week). I’m a fresh beginner. I had a tiny bit of practice from home, like 2 months of here and there home studying before the course. It’s a little more familiar to me than most of the others and I’ve picked up on that. 

I don’t exactly know what she was implying, but I was embracing her to the point where it was basically 1/3 of a hug. I do think, however, she was implying she’s absolutely terrible at it and that was the reason she was crying. She must have had very low self esteem and felt more insecure and hopeless that she wasn’t picking it up that easily. Now that I think of it, she reminds a little of, my older sister, just a bit, a girl called Catherine I used to go to college with, who liked Minecraft lets plays, FNAF and was quite autistic. She struggled with studies and had super low self esteem. She could work untold wonders with a passion and uniquely shaped mind like hers though.

well, I was taken aback by that. I wasn’t sure what to say, ‘uh no it isn’t.’ ‘yours is a lot better’, I know nothing about her so I cant say that. I didnt know how to ask if thats the problem, I was thinking what to say. I couldnt use icebreaker questions and small talk because it was an awful time for it. She was devastated, I was slightly wondering if she went through something awful recently. It seems like her perception was telling her she had no use in the world.

I was looking at my book, at my desk, attention divided towards her, wondering what my next move would be. I was trying to comfort her, but failing. She was going into panic mode, gasping on her tears, she pulled out some herbal supplements from her bag. I recognized the bottle as Nature’s Best,  I thought they was 5-htp which I bought. People use them for depression and anxiety because they turn into serotonin. It was something else, the tablet was a see-through grey like cod liver oil pods but not orange. She drank it or put it into some cereal looking travel mug container idek its a blur whatever. It was a response to her attack, it seemed, anyway.

I thought great, that’s something we can bond on in order to get talking. I was like hey, I use supplements from them too. Natures Best, right? She got her red bag and said I’m sorry, wiping away her tears, she swiftly walked out of the door behind us, down the classroom. Then left, with her pinkish smoky coloured fleecy top. Walking and jogging slowly into the empty road, grey skies, damp from previous rainfall, in the industrial zone. The ones where there’s still houses and buildings to rent but the view is just of grey spiky fences and overgrown abandoned lots.

I was going to chase her, I looked at the teacher, asked if I could go. She looked frustrated said no. dont go. I decided teacher knows best and it’d be foolish not to listen to her.

looking back, I think the girl was a metaphor for my sister, or all the girls I’ve hurt. Hurt with my ignorance, with, idk just how I am. Maybe because I try so hard to look good and impress people, so I dont feel embarrassed or ashamed of myself or whatever, it works. Maybe they believe I’m actually as amazing as i try to seem and that makes them inferior. Maybe I don’t notice because im just trying to make sure I dont come off as sleazy, maybe i dont notice how they actually feel bc im just thinking of myself. I’ve also been fairly abusive to my sister as well. She was on the chubby side, kind of looked like that in school, cried a lot. I mean, I had my reasons for being that way, she was hard to live with but, if we actually need to blame anyone which we dont, my mother should have resolved the issues we all had with each other. Now, they’ve lived on into adulthood and we have to assume how to fix them ourselves.

or, when I’m asleep at that time, my baby nephew, one and a half, is always crying and crying AND SCREAMING AND SOBBING AND EXCLAIMING A CRYING SCREAM OF DREAD, ANGUISH, PAIN AND SUFFERING. It’s Hellish. I was at a friends house, sleeping in a comfy, cozy, quiet bed away from any noise. There was no babies crying but, every single morning without dread, I hear him screaming and howling like a jackal. So when I’m in that deep sleep state of mind, the pathways of my brain must now be wired to accommodate for the tormented squealing of his tire-screeching wails.

So, idk, there was crying, in my subcionscious and it was associated with my sister. Associated with idk, chubby girls with brown hair, who i probably see as struggling with mental tasks such as academia. Whether they lack the knowledge and capabalities or not, they certainly lack the mindset, the self belief and perseverance to keep trying... which in turn yields the same result as being incapable, if not to them then to their perception of self and world. . So, she was crying, and I think it’s a metaphor for both what my negative impact is on my baby nephew and thus, his mother, my sister. She walked out the door, she left our moment together because she idk, she didn’t want to experience any of that. She was hyperventilating crying and just wanted out of the situation; maybe to cry and be sad. Or to do something she realized she had to do, for herself or whatever. 

I basically saw that as her quitting the course and giving up for good instead of trying. Then, I knew I had to chase her. I was fully ready to go run out that door, go through a very emotional chat and get to the bottom of everything. Inspirational speech, help her with whatever troubles. Assure her that she’s great, reflect her good side to her. Calm down her breathing rate, crack a quick joke to remind her what laughter feels like and walk her back into class. 

Yet, the teacher was cross, sternly shook her head and briefly instructed me not to before continuing her lecturing. She knew I’d missed enough already and wasn’t going to just tell me to miss more because one student has disrupted the workflow. Rightly so, I understood and respected her judgement, yet my heart still felt for her. I kept peering out of my window, into the light glowed up in the poofiness of the lighter clouds, covering all trace of blue on the horizon.

So in conclusion, the crying girl was a metaphor for my family, all of those I need to look out for, compromise with and help move forward. The teacher instructing me to use mind over mood, discipline myself and focus on work is my ambition. My desire for a better life, the knowing that I need to sacrifice my desires, my relationships and even often my conscience for the greater good of my future. Of my ambitions, of my businesses, of my legacy, of what I’ll leave behind, for my self. Otherwise... I’ll be stuck crying with them, gawking at the more admirable traits that others have as opposed to myself. 

If I was to chase her, I’d be walking away in the same direction with her. All you can really do is hope she straightens up herself, otherwise, the other option would be doing nothing.

So, that’s what I think that is. I had that dream when I drifted back to sleep after 1pm, monday, 21st Oct 2019. It’s all I could think about all day that day. A fat girl crying. I was jaded all day. Contemplative, even when I got home, I lay in bed, i felt ill after being around pets the whole weekend, eating literally uncountable masses of junk food. I kept sighing mentally, thinking back to the girl who kept sobbing to my right, I didn’t notice she was chubby until after when I reflected. I felt responsible. Then the day after (today) I was thinking of it. 

Then, this evening, just today. I was in the classroom, late as usual. I creeped in, teacher talking about many points. Straight away my pad and pen was out, scribbling. I noticed after a while, a kinda chubby girl, brown hair (actually vibrant in colour though), colorful fleece, was to my right. She was on the corner part of the table, no more chairs to the right. She seemed completely emotionally intact, however.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every note I made I felt bad. I felt guilty. I felt scared, that maybe I’d upset her. I didn’t want to dominate her subliminally. I did know a little extra stuff like conjugations that hadn’t been taught yet and I was writing those down, wondering if she’s noticed. I couldn’t handle it, I looked at her pad, I had to compliment her. It must have been a sign, a vision, that came in a dream. I even considered asking her what she was doing at that time, when the dream occurred, I considered telling her about the dream. All sorts of forward things to strike a conversation with.

In the end, at breaktime, I asked her name. Straight away told her “your writing is so neat. Oh my God. How is your handwriting so neat? That’s unbelievable, wow!”. It was actually incredibly neat by the way I’ll proclaim that right now. Especially the hangul characters, they’re unfamiliar for us pretty much. They was small, spaciously together, in correct proportions, no lines bending the wrong way. When I write them wow, one is too big, a middle vowel will take up the bottom then i sort of squash the last really big consonant underneath, overlapping to the below line. It’s all disproportionate, just a mess... and thats just the English writing. 

So yeah, I didn’t tell her any of that dream stuff or whatever. We got talking. She’s doing third year maths at the uni. Took the course to bump her credits up which improves her overall grade. So she’s been taking it very seriously, she said she went over every single word in the textbook last night. She wants to pass. She’s clearly strong willed, intellectual, all the admirable treats. Very admirable indeed. Her favorite number is 7, mainly because she’s born on a 7th day. She enjoys graph theory in maths, dropped mechanics but did pure and statistics, then told me a bunch of stuff about maths i didnt understand but im the one who inquired so it’s kind of what I get. she also knows her runescape fairly well, but we both grew ambitions in the real world which took over, it seems.

we certainly broke the ice a little bit. I probably wouldn’t have even chatted to her without that dream. I’ll get to know her more again next time.