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grrrr, aaargh.
Sunday, 18 November 2007 09:40 amSo, it's not enough that Sid has been capering round my frontal lobe in hobnailed boots since yesterday afternoon: oh, no. The cosmic wossnames have to contribute to the whole situation by waking me up this morning at 6.30 am - which is, may I point out, an hour which officially doesn't even exist on a Sunday - still with the headache, and also with the pounding footfalls and cheery, energetic shouts of mutual encouragement of a medium-sized road race coming past my bedroom at a distance of about 4m from my head. Take it from me, this is not a happy awakening experience. Right in the middle of a John Crichton dream, too.
I did manage to fall fitfully back asleep for a couple of hours, and dreams thereafter got, even for me, a bit weird. First there was the extended balletic performance I was giving across the stairs and plazas of a huge, deserted, modern city. Then there were the couscous zombies. As the daughter of the mayor of a small town, I co-ordinated a defense against some lurking, cataclysmic threat which turned out to be zombies, and which entailed holing up in the town hall. This subsequently became (a) the hotel room in which I was captured by the police for a crime I was framed for by my valet, and then (b)![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starmadeshadow's old flat, which I have to say is horribly designed for zombie defense - no actual doors anywhere. It transpired that eating couscous turned the attacker - I think it might have been Scroobius - into something resembling the more manic cinematic flights of Bellatrix Lestrange, causing her to lunge through the service hatch at us as we cowered in the kitchen. The dream ended on a terribly ominous note with the giant pots of couscous on the stove behind us bubbling and seething as something emerged from the depths, and I woke up thinking "Couscous golem? It'll never work!" But it's bizarre how much doom-laden spin one's subconscious can give to a glimpse of a simple granulated wheat product.
Have become v. enamoured of Naomi Novik's mad Napoleonic dragon series: review to follow when (a) my head doesn't hurt so much, and (b) I've finished the day's CV-burnishing for purposes of admin job application. Because, as you all point out, always apply. I can angst about whether to take the job or not if they actually offer it to me. Yay angst.
I did manage to fall fitfully back asleep for a couple of hours, and dreams thereafter got, even for me, a bit weird. First there was the extended balletic performance I was giving across the stairs and plazas of a huge, deserted, modern city. Then there were the couscous zombies. As the daughter of the mayor of a small town, I co-ordinated a defense against some lurking, cataclysmic threat which turned out to be zombies, and which entailed holing up in the town hall. This subsequently became (a) the hotel room in which I was captured by the police for a crime I was framed for by my valet, and then (b)
starmadeshadow's old flat, which I have to say is horribly designed for zombie defense - no actual doors anywhere. It transpired that eating couscous turned the attacker - I think it might have been Scroobius - into something resembling the more manic cinematic flights of Bellatrix Lestrange, causing her to lunge through the service hatch at us as we cowered in the kitchen. The dream ended on a terribly ominous note with the giant pots of couscous on the stove behind us bubbling and seething as something emerged from the depths, and I woke up thinking "Couscous golem? It'll never work!" But it's bizarre how much doom-laden spin one's subconscious can give to a glimpse of a simple granulated wheat product.Have become v. enamoured of Naomi Novik's mad Napoleonic dragon series: review to follow when (a) my head doesn't hurt so much, and (b) I've finished the day's CV-burnishing for purposes of admin job application. Because, as you all point out, always apply. I can angst about whether to take the job or not if they actually offer it to me. Yay angst.
