Close Encounters

I am going to go to sleep and dream of alien invasions. I am sleeping on the floor of my brother's room because I don't have a bedroom, and my computer is casting eerie artificial light on the walls, illuminating the fake chicken which is hanging off the lightshade in a fashion reminiscent of a scene from an abattoir. It reminds me of the upside-down chicken carcass sculpture in the Ron Mueck exhibition, which I saw yesterday. It was pouring with rain when I went and it took us a long time to find a car park. Maybe even longer than we spent inside the art gallery. That chicken sculpture with its neck-gash repulsed me, and made me pleased to be a vegetarian. My favourite piece was Pregnant Woman, because I saw a lot of strength in it. I even thought I saw her move, but I do often have visual impairments.
Back to the aliens. It is very windy outside, and I think wind is the creepiest kind of weather, so it is easy to imagine a spaceship sweeping down from the sky and hovering above my house. I love 1970s science-fiction films. Maybe I want to dream of aliens because I had a disappointing evening, engaging in several behaviours which I have vowed to stop but constantly repeat. To escape my frustration, I drift into daydreams and night ones.