it's trying to tell me something

Sometimes your subconscious simply has to take you gently by the hand and lead you to a spot where it can firmly rub your nose in an issue while jumping up and down and screaming "Look, you idiot!"

Last night I dreamed I was travelling, a lot, exhaustingly. At one point I prepared a picnic lunch for my sister, only to discover that instead of actual bread rolls I had precisely half a sad, limp, leftover roasted potato. Later I arrived at a huge, old, dark, crumbling mansion, where I was supposed to be expected, but where I was met only by an aged and shuffling servitor who had no idea who I was and only reluctantly found me a bedroom. The room was incredibly dusty, furnished only with a bed with threadbare covers; the cupboard was filled with ancient clothes and carpets, filthy, rotting and perished to the point where they crumbled at a touch. The house was cold, and creepy, and sad.

The motivation for this scene is not reading too much Gothic. The motivation is chatting to the extremely comforting and sympathetic librsa in the car on the way home from jo's game last night, and describing the current (lack of) expectations of my so-called academic life. See that crumbling, forgotten, haunted mansion? That's my career, that is. And I suspect the potato is my academic achievements to date. Thanks, subconscious.

On the upside, the antibiotics are crazed superhero vigilantes, I'm feeling much better (although tired enough after a long day yesterday to have gazed blankly at the screen thinking "biokinetics? biodegradable?" before being able to come up with the word "antibiotic"). Also, B5 is at T minus 13 and counting.

Bunny Threat Level: Green like a jealous green froggy thing in a green field of clover and green. Although this week is the 10-day vac, perhaps work might actually occur.