druidic bits

Woke up this morning to find that the Evil Landlord had neglected to buy electricity, so the house was dark and cold. There should be a law against forcing people to give curriculum advice before their first cup of tea.

What's with the plants, subconscious? Night before last I dreamed that a happy gathering in a log cabin in the woods somewhere was suddenly overwhelmed by an incredibly fast-moving avalanche of thorny growth, which came roaring through the trees in a wave of crackling, lashing tendrils, and buried the house and inhabitants. Very vivid moment of watching the shoots and thorns bursting through my flesh, and thinking, "Great, now I'm dead. Hang on, why aren't I dead?" Subsequently hid out in a potting shed.

Last night my island home saw the epic invasion of a few dozen teenage Gauteng rock bands, complete with nasty adolescent internal politics (the satanists were incredibly cruel to the gay pagans) and particularly bizarre, lateral and rather dreadful stage performances. I was able to largely ignore the horror, however, because I was busy planting sweet peas. This time the dream ended up in a giant greenhouse full of succulents rather than a potting shed, but I feel the principle is the same. Growth is apparently both threatening and important. Yup, must be my life.

This wretched sinus infection has gone underground. I can feel it. The surface is sniffle-free and apparently calm, but there's Seekrit Cult Activity down there that's making me perpetually exhausted, headachy, slightly nauseous and very, very afraid that they're busy summoning up another mucus demon. Sigh.

Bunny Threat Level: holding in the amber. I was busy marking essays all yesterday, but am plotting assaults on popular culture this afternoon.