Sub-reality in Numbers

(Written on May 19, 2005. Re-published in June 2022.)

The unbelievable has happened.

This morning, I awoke to the newfound reality that not only do I dream in color, but I now dream in numbers, too.

Coming from a math-averse person like me, this is news.

To give you a picture of how it went: On days when I am seriously sleep-deprived, I try to get up as late as I can to maximize the REM experience. This morning, I knew Chukie, my half-Thai roommate, was already up and taking a shower. My phone alarm was going off again and again like crazy on a 5-minute interval, but in the nano-seconds that I would emerge from light sleep to hit the snooze button, I would check if Chuks was already done. Only then will I haul my carcass off the bed and start off my day with a shower.

So anyway, during those precious seconds before my dreams got disrupted by the screeching alarm, I was dreaming that I was looking at the forecast for an IT market that I am currently doing. But it was more like I was looking at these spreadsheets to forecast the exact moment that I will have to get up and about. Weird, huh?

Now stuff like this usually cracks me up. I mean, who would have thought? I love the bizarreness of things; the mystery makes life a little bit more interesting.

But dreams of forecasts--yikes. Not a very enticing way to start the day, hey? ;) You see, these are rows upon rows of cold, colorless numbers (yes, in my world, numbers can have color) that are enough to drive anyone batty if they aren't careful enough (I know I have bouts of dingbatness come submission time, as my colleagues can attest to with excessive ardor).

I might be a number cruncher, but I have very little love for numbers (forecasts being the bane of my existence). I loved my CommRes 120 (Quantitative Analysis in Research) days in UP, though. Probably because I wasn't bad in it. In fact, it was one of the few things I enjoyed in MassComm, despite a wobbly start.

Anyway, so much for that. This whole forecast business, I think it's my subconscious saying to me, "Get cracking, you ditz!" Yes, the dreaded final forecast is due this Friday, and I have yet to start on it.

Unbelievable. The realization starts to hit home: Work has finally penetrated my subconscious. And I shudder to think of the possibilities it brings. Like, what if I wake up, panting and gasping for dear life as I lay deluged by a nightmarish vision of numbers in my sleep. Then there's also the dismal possibility of being visited by my boss in my dreams. Brrr. I'd rather take on Freddy Kruger anyday.

Just feeling it...

(Written in May 2005, accidentally published in June 2022. I stand by what I wrote 17 years ago. To the one with whom I spoke about unrequited whatevers, this is what I meant then. But yes, it's all a bunch of "nothing"...)

This must be the night of plagiarization and unoriginal thought. Nonetheless, I enjoin you to humor me as I share with you a little something that I just came across in the blog of a friend's friend (come again?).

"For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are those 'It might have been.'" - John Greenleaf Whittier

The guy sure knows his stuff. Now, to "borrow" from the idiot box, here's a lengthier tidbit. Got this from the the Internet movie database, by the way.

Joey: So what is the best ending in all of literature? Don't say Ulysses. Everyone says Ulysses.

Professor David Wilder: That's easy. Sentimental Education by Flaubert.

Joey: And what happens?

Professor David Wilder: Nothing, really. Just two old friends sitting around remembering the best thing that never happened to them.

Joey: How do you remember something that never happened?

Professor David Wilder: Fondly. You see, Flaubert believed that anticipation was the purest form of pleasure... and the most reliable. And that while the things that actually happen to you would invariably disappoint, the things that never happened to you would never dim. Never fade. They would always be engraved in your heart with a sort of sweet sadness.

Whoever said Dawson's Creek was crappy, sentimental garbage or any permutation of such is absolutely wretched.

Now that I've made my point, I should be getting back to work.

Have a great weekend, y'all!