Strange dreams and nosebleeds.

If I could remember all my strange dreams in vivid detail and then transcribe them down, I'm sure that they'd make pretty good movie plots, which is me wondering if it is simply a fast-foward of me watching a movie in the future. I faintly remember waking up in the middle on the night on saturday and smelling the tinct of blood and wondering why my nasal tube felt wet. I awoke to find blood on the tube and on the sheets on my pillow. Odd. The dream was intense and each time I woke and fell asleep, the dream would take oer and would be progressing, much like your mind putting it on pause while you are away from the programming session. It seems very far away now, but it was scary and images of good and evil. I am thinking that I am given a glimpse into the unseen world of the spirits battling around us and that eveil is in fact looking for us, and it is only through the sheer courage anddetermination of good, sometimes in hiding, that carries us though. I do think to myself sometimes that I would be dead, given everything that is waiting to go wrong inside my body, what with all the unforgiving environments that I have subjected it to through the years, and in fact lately - the mould the dust, the poor diet, the bad eyes, the flat feet. Someone is trying very hard to keep me alive and it isn't me. And am coming to the realization that your dreams become more frequent and more intense as your essense stays with you are you aren't wasting it through masturbation. The energy must be pent up somehow and then redistributed to you rather than out throug your semen. Do we have more vitality if we don't induldge in the excesses of the flesh? who knows. It was dramatic and while last night's dream was long, it wasn't as intense and memorable for some reason. I do, however, recall having a dream last night but given the 6 hour lag between having and writing this, I don't remember a thing, other than the sensation.

Of Thoughtshowers.

That is apparently the new army-speak for "brainstorming" that has been around for ages. I am here in Base Borden, writing furiously on the computer in the Officers' Mess. It has been a three-year hiatus since my last time here and I am reminded of the lessons of the past so quickly forgotten: the sweltering and unforgiving heat, and the distances that invarisbly separate one's accomodations and wherever one has to be. Whether it be dining mess or classroom, it will likely be across on the other side of the base and yo uwill need to find transportation.

It has a been a bit of an interesting time, meeting old friends from previous courses, and learning a great deal of new information that I had thus far been complaining that they should have given us my first time around. I am enjoying it but not relaxing as had been the last time and it is all due to the fact that I am johnny come lately unto a group of people who have been together for 2 weeks previous, and many of them had been on their BCT the previous year and no-where on my course is anyone from my last visit to this base. Nicholas Hilareguy, now Captain, is here on the finance course with Darren Robertson from my unit. He is much the same if a little more serious, which may be the result of now being married and living in his own apartment in St. Hubert. There is also Mrs Jennifer Boswell. I will be dashed if I can remember her maiden name but she was with me in Gagetown in 1999 and has been, with her husband frmo time to him, bumping into me all across this country. From Camp Connaught in 2000, to a cloth model ex in the sherwin armouries in Richmond one year. She is now in Halifax with "Boz". In anycase, it has been warm and I am not quartered in my old space, P-182, which is adjoined to the mess, but in O-116, which is nearer the main gate, by the Rations & Quarters building. I wonder if I will return here to see my friends again. It wuold be nice. I wonder if I will see "her" again. Not likely. After this, we will not all see one another until we do our major qualifying course. How strange it is to see these faces again, when I barely see friends from the nearby service battalions and the local units. Anyway, I trust that things will out in the end and all will be as the Lord intended. And well.

Is it insecticide to spray a moth and then capture it to set free?

Os is it just plain cruel? A morass opens up in one's mind and at first one will go through the thought of perhaps trying to capture it and set it free, like your mother keeps telling you to (unless it's mice or rats and then she doesn't mind if the become demised). Then you think that it's too diffcult to do and it's a pest besides and it can't stay here and you tell it so audibly. You know it doesn't understand. Perhaps it knows that you are annoyed at having found it. So you stare at it, having fallen behind the shampoo bottles in the bathtub and only just now crawled out. You see a brown mottled triangle of fuzz. Not too much unresembling a cockroach perhaps. A shirt devouring pest to be sure, but this particular one hasn't done any harm yet, other than invade your home. But what use are they you think, then again what use are we all really? So you walk over to the spray-can of evil - the household pests spray of death. And you sneak up quietly and hold your breath like a sniper ready to fire on his target. You actually inch in closer, holding the nozzle not six inches from the poor little brown moth, which was probably just trying to escape an unseasonably cold Summer night, or else flew into the room, somehow getting past the curtains and then found it impossible to leave. Maybe it didn't want to just then. And you spray a short, sharp burst of the insect equivaent to a biological-chemical weapon. And you see it take off in a flurry, wings beating so fast they they appear as a grey blur. and it darts about, trying to escape the secondary bursts of the chemical attack and the lingering mist in the air. It must be terrible. And instantly pangs of guilt freeze me to the spot, can in hand as I watch helplessly and the moth flutters about blindly. It smacks itself loudly again and again into the bathroom light fixture and then into the stainless steel board running across the wall. It does not want to die. It is doing itself immeasurable damage just flying about and hitting just about everything in the bathroom. As I write this I am afraid that it is even now, lying in the cold bush somewhere, griping some twig that it has landed on and choking to death, gasping for air in the cold of the early morning, gasping for warmth and fresh air. It beats about some more in my bathroom with great rapidity and my thoughts instantly switch to try and save so gallant a moth and try to trap it under a glass and find a small pamphlet to hold it in with. The moth flutters and bangs up again the card and actually works itself free and blunders into the chemical-laden air of the bathroom and it panics even more. I trap it again and gingerly walk over and release it into the morning air and see it fly out somewhat quickly and unsteadily and I lose sight of it in the morning dark outside my bedroom window. The life within it was saying, "I can live with this, just give me a chance, really, just don't spray me anymore". Even now as I sit here writing this, I can smell the lingering smell of the insect death spray diffusing from the bathroom. To an insect, the concentration levels must be absolutely horrid. I imagine it is like walking into a closed room with walls recently sprayed with wood stain, except that the stain is magically sticky and sticks to your clothering and like a fine film of glue becomes stickier as you rub it, and even now it is sticking and burning in inside of your throat and your nostrills, and as you rub your nose, more of the stuff coasts it and your hands and you get the sensation that it is both glueing your eyelids shut, and burning them on both sides. The moth was a pretty little thing with orange bottom wings and fine feathery antennae. I hate to think that I have just now murdered this little thing when all it wanted to do was live. Perhaps it will learn and not to fly near or into human things. For we tend to find destruction as our first reaction versus care. At least most guys do. Care takes discipline. I hope the moth will survive. I hope it doesn't bear a grudge. I'm sorry, I thought you might have been a spider. Women tell me its okay to kill spiders.