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back burner of brain
Thursday, 7 April 2005 03:35 pmI had a truly, truly weird dream the other night, one of those vividly compelling ones that is still haunting me with that feeling that I have to plumb its little metaphors or my head might explode. Place is a small stone house halfway up a mountain. Occupants of same are self and three men (unknown, i.e. no actual people I know) who are, like me, wizards. Situation is a nasty fantasy-style war, much consulting of maps to see how the enemy is encroaching on all fronts. Also much angst and trauma about the fact that the enemy is somehow affecting magic, it's not working properly.
The focus, nub and central image of this dream is the fact that there is only one four-legged wooden stool left for me to sit on, and it's broken. One of its legs is missing the bottom 4 cm or so. Technically, I should be able to mend this with a pass of my hand, which I do: I run my hand over the leg, and suddenly it's whole again. Except that one of the other wizards looks over at me and laughs, warning me that it always works like that, and it'll fall apart again at 1pm the next day. (Very definite time). I look at it closely, and realise that the whole leg is an illusion, the bottom piece is only loosely tacked on. This is obviously a result of the fact that magic is not working properly, and I spend the rest of the dream sitting uneasily on the mended stool, waiting for it to break. Fortunately my alarm goes before it does.
I cannot work out if I'm being horribly threatened by (a) encroaching outside pressures sapping my will, (b) my own inadequacy, (c) men, (d) my department, or (e) any combination of the above. But, damn, that broken stool is vivid. Am happy to accept recommendations for a competent exorcist. Or possibly shrink.
This week has been a mad social whirl, and continues same. Tuesday evening started with movies - Vanity Fair with Jo-the-younger, lovely period drama and, as far as I can tell from only being halfway through the book again, remarkably true to the original, despite inevitable compression and Mira Nair-esque focus on India. The film was distinguished by the presence of Jonathan Rhys Davies, who does incredibly cool total bastards (notably Steerpike in Gormenghast) and Tom Sturridge, the same dark, good-looking boy actor who did Julia's son in Being Julia, and is obviously flavour du jour in Brit film circles. He's cute; I'm wondering why the Harry Potter franchise hasn't snapped him up, although it's probably because he is true to the muse and only does Serious Drama. Anyway. Following film, we headed into Obs and joined Phlp for supper at Diva's, which was cool. Then gig at Armchair Theatre, first time I've seen Wicked City in yonks, was duly impressed, as much by Phlp's vocal acrobatics as anything else. Damn, Ivan is scarey on stage. Yesterday afternoon, impromptu tea with Jo&Stv, who had fled Jane&Ween's mad tornado charlady; much nonsense talked, in pleasant fashion. Last night was supper with Neil&Karen&Emma, ostensibly to watch Shrek II in pursuance of my academic goals, but in fact we simply ate excellent food and gassed a lot. Which is, in microcosm, the story of my current academic life. Sigh. Emma is turning into a pixie; she spent a good portion of the evening staring at me and doing an excellent imitation of a shocked goblin. Very cute, like something out of Labyrinth. She actually has pointy ears. Tonight I feed my hordes of players and DM for them, insert megalomanic cackle here. Saturday is SCA cooking, Sunday is rapier and a dinner party, good lord I am a hotbed of social wossname.
I have located my cellphone (left in Lara's car) but still haven't got around to collecting it, thereby demonstrating the extent to which it is deeply uncentral to my mode of life. Tech, so optional, she says, feverishly connecting to the Internet.
The focus, nub and central image of this dream is the fact that there is only one four-legged wooden stool left for me to sit on, and it's broken. One of its legs is missing the bottom 4 cm or so. Technically, I should be able to mend this with a pass of my hand, which I do: I run my hand over the leg, and suddenly it's whole again. Except that one of the other wizards looks over at me and laughs, warning me that it always works like that, and it'll fall apart again at 1pm the next day. (Very definite time). I look at it closely, and realise that the whole leg is an illusion, the bottom piece is only loosely tacked on. This is obviously a result of the fact that magic is not working properly, and I spend the rest of the dream sitting uneasily on the mended stool, waiting for it to break. Fortunately my alarm goes before it does.
I cannot work out if I'm being horribly threatened by (a) encroaching outside pressures sapping my will, (b) my own inadequacy, (c) men, (d) my department, or (e) any combination of the above. But, damn, that broken stool is vivid. Am happy to accept recommendations for a competent exorcist. Or possibly shrink.
This week has been a mad social whirl, and continues same. Tuesday evening started with movies - Vanity Fair with Jo-the-younger, lovely period drama and, as far as I can tell from only being halfway through the book again, remarkably true to the original, despite inevitable compression and Mira Nair-esque focus on India. The film was distinguished by the presence of Jonathan Rhys Davies, who does incredibly cool total bastards (notably Steerpike in Gormenghast) and Tom Sturridge, the same dark, good-looking boy actor who did Julia's son in Being Julia, and is obviously flavour du jour in Brit film circles. He's cute; I'm wondering why the Harry Potter franchise hasn't snapped him up, although it's probably because he is true to the muse and only does Serious Drama. Anyway. Following film, we headed into Obs and joined Phlp for supper at Diva's, which was cool. Then gig at Armchair Theatre, first time I've seen Wicked City in yonks, was duly impressed, as much by Phlp's vocal acrobatics as anything else. Damn, Ivan is scarey on stage. Yesterday afternoon, impromptu tea with Jo&Stv, who had fled Jane&Ween's mad tornado charlady; much nonsense talked, in pleasant fashion. Last night was supper with Neil&Karen&Emma, ostensibly to watch Shrek II in pursuance of my academic goals, but in fact we simply ate excellent food and gassed a lot. Which is, in microcosm, the story of my current academic life. Sigh. Emma is turning into a pixie; she spent a good portion of the evening staring at me and doing an excellent imitation of a shocked goblin. Very cute, like something out of Labyrinth. She actually has pointy ears. Tonight I feed my hordes of players and DM for them, insert megalomanic cackle here. Saturday is SCA cooking, Sunday is rapier and a dinner party, good lord I am a hotbed of social wossname.
I have located my cellphone (left in Lara's car) but still haven't got around to collecting it, thereby demonstrating the extent to which it is deeply uncentral to my mode of life. Tech, so optional, she says, feverishly connecting to the Internet.
