doom

I hang my head in shame. The Bunny Threat Level has not been rising sharply enough for some people (she says, turning the Gimlet Gaze of Guilt-trip on the perpetrators), and the bunny has acquired... accessories. Accessories of doom. Accessories which caused me, upon contemplating them, to rest my head gently upon my keyboard and weep tears of grief and betrayal. Accessories which are twee, plastic, shiny and which, in the crowning moment of tackiness, are stuck on with prestik. I feel ill. No, wait, that'll be the sinus infection and the new round of superhero antibiotics embarking on Round 3. My nice doctor has a Plan. Or strategy. Or possibly tactics.

( Bunny Accessories of Doom lurk in waiting after the cut. Don't say I didn't warn you. )

I guess I'll just finish that book now. Horrific though this is, knowing the perpetrators it could be worse, and probably will be shortly. My friends love me, really, and want me to finish this book. Sanity is apparently optional.

Weird Dream update: weird career images. Last night I flew gently in to my office on campus, only to discover it was now a sumptuous set of rooms in aged stone and wooden panelling, with a high, cathedral-arched roof and enormous, transparent, billowing curtains of red silk running from floor to ceiling. The rooms were filled with students, who were all milling about enthusiastically demanding my autograph on books which I hadn't actually written.

And this year's strangest dream image so far: a woman, with long, wild hair streaked with grey, wearing billowing, layered clothes, and standing on the edge of a high cliff in the wind. Her clothes were dotted all over with those black plastic hairclips with teeth, which were clenched onto the fabric all over her. As I watched she leaped into the air, and the hairclips all changed into black birds which held her up, flapping. Their strange, piercing cries turned into the beeps of the alarm clock, and I woke up.

Bunny Threat Level: aargh.