maybe

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

I'm sorry for even writing a dream blog entry because WHO CARES ABOUT YOUR DREAMS, but I had two terrible dreams in a row that I can't shake. In the first one, we were all trapped in a Donald Trump mass shooting hybrid (basically Donald Trump was rounding us all up, or finding us at work, and shooting our brains out. I was smart enough to crawl underneath a bed and escape when he wasn't looking, but I couldn't find Brad. So I ran to Disneyland in the dark and had to hide in bushes along the way so that nobody would see me.) In the second dream, my godson died of SIDS. It was a pretty horrible dream full of me screaming and screaming and screaming and sobbing, sobbing, sobbing and some other things that are more disturbing but I’d rather not write down.

I woke up it was so awful and was glad to realize it wasn't true.

Anyway, I’m only writing about it because the moment after I woke up I pretty much realized what causes Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. It’s comfort! Think about it! You’re not suppose to put babies on comfy mattresses or surround them with awesome pillows and blankets because it can cause SIDS!

Comfort causes SIDS! Babies just get so fucking comfortable they’re like “I’m just gonna stop breathing. That’s what I’m going to do. Fuck breathing. I just want to be like this forever.”

OR MAYBE THAT’S SOMETIMES WHAT I THINK WHEN I’M REALLY DEPRESSED AND LYING IN MY BED. MAYBE. POSSIBLY. MAYBE I’M POSSIBLY PROJECTING MY DEPRESSION ONTO BABIES DYING OF SIDS. THAT MIGHT BE A THING THAT IS HAPPENING.