Oh, nooblets, what's wrong with me?

Actually this post has very little to do with nooblets, and more to do with the strange inner workings of my brain. Of which I myself understand very little, but there are a few things that have recently occurred that have gotten me thinking.

Thing number one: I know how to prevent myself from remembering my dreams. Conversely, I know how to make myself remember them. It's really weird, actually, because this is a relatively new trick (as in, past four or so years). Turns out if I can fake dreams, it fools my brain into not letting me remember any proper dreams I may have had. Which is sort of convenient, actually, because my dreams always leave me feeling really restless and on-edge.

Which is thing number two: I've had two dreams involving confinement in the past week or two. I'm guessing this means I feel stifled by school and life and I want to be free from obligations, which--well, duh.

But it's a little strange, because one of these dreams also involved needing to fulfill an obligation to a friend and the dream-me sort of ducked out of it. Apparently I'm at the point where I no longer care about responsibilities at all, even to people I should be caring about. Which again I sort of already knew, but it's a little depressing.

Thing number three: I have always, always had cracked-out dreams because, like many people, I take what I see and experience and think about during the day and convert it into one big dreamworld mosh pit. Which has led to Yu-gi-oh being played from broomsticks and J. Schmidt helping me save the unicorns and toe-biting zombies.

Except occasionally, I apparently do the same thing when I'm awake. So I'd been discussing the Air France flight that crashed, and I'd been reading about a really ruthless, logical character, and suddenly this scene pops into my head and plays out. And I'm vaguely aware that it's going to go in a somewhat romantic direction eventually, but the beginning of the scene involves this character hearing about the flight going missing and laughing.

This was creepy enough, because I don't need another psychotic individual living in my head. Already got one, thanks. But it gets weirder, because then the guy says "Ha--I beat them."

It takes me a second to sort of reanalyze that, and it turns out that this guy is saying he's won because the passengers have all died. And as he's not dead, he's beaten them. In the game of life, as it were.

It's almost funny, except it's also really fucking weird. I mean, what kind of an asshole sits there and laughs because--and it's not because he's happy to be alive, even, it's because he LIKES TO WIN. And this is another way of winning.

I wound up writing the scene down, and it morphed from something with the potential to be cute (there was another person in the room who gets really upset and the analytical character thinks to himself about how this is one emotion he's not going to analyze because he doesn't ever want to see his friend cry again since it makes him feel all weird and uncomfortable inside) into...well.

I'm appalled at myself. I mean, I know it's a good thing to be able to write despicable characters, but damned if it's not a thoroughly unpleasant experience. Needed to get it out of my system.