Ego, Smeagol

I know, it's supposed to be ego, schmego but I do things my way. You got a problem with that?

Actually, I have a problem with it.

How can something so big and cumbersome be called something so small. It shouldn't be called ego, it should be called Supercalifragilisticexpiladociousgo. Wait, wouldn't that be what we would call the Superego? Freudian slip I guess.

My ego is 'my Precious' and I am Smeagol. My Precious tortures me but I must have it. It owns me and I can't set it aside, although I am trying. Life would be so much easier without it.

I had a dream last night that I walked through a spider's web. I have these dreams occasionally, and typically, they are no big deal. But this one was a little different. In this dream I spent the next few minutes looking for spiders crawling on me and found nothing - no big deal. Then all of a sudden, a few minutes later I see this huge juicy black widow shaped spider attached to my left arm. Except it wasn't black. It was a bright fluorescent blue and about 3 times the size of a black widow. I couldn't bare to touch it so I asked my friend to flick it off. As he tried to flick it off, it doesn't even budge, it just squishes a little, like it is fat off of my blood. Then, he tries to peel it off from the back and as he starts to do so, I see this long barbed fang protruding into my skin and I am freaking out, screaming at him to get it off my arm. "Get it off!, Get it off!"

And that is why I am posting this blog at 4:00 AM. The ego topic popped in my head after the cold sweat dried from my body.

These are the thoughts that crawl around in this mind of mine. And you wonder why I don't want my ego in charge?

By the way, if you judged me, or labeled me while reading any of this, say hello to your little friend. I like to call him Precious.

Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite.