believing the strangest things
Saturday, 29 May 2010 07:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freckles_and_doubtThe Techno-Jinx is putting on its spurs and stetson to ride again, dammit - this ADSL has taken to randomly falling over every week or so, for six or eight hours, for no adequately defined reason, and then randomly re-discovering its raison d'être and reconnecting all off its own bat. My nice Imaginet guys are of the opinion that the Telkom re-cabling dude did something monumentally stupid, which I have to say sounds surprisingly likely, and they are chasing up Hellcom and demanding redress on my behalf. Anyway, hell hath no grumpy like an Extemp suddenly deprived the next chapter in the middle of a particularly sizzling Spike/Buffy fanfic. Fortunately the Imaginet fiddling seems to have put it back up. For now, she says darkly.
It also doesn't help that I spent the last two days taking exhaustive notes at an exhausting workshop, which was remarkably filled with sweetness, light and co-operation for a bunch of academics talking about merging departments, but which has nonetheless left me feeling like a piece of string on which Sid has been nibbling for two days, with a sad and absolute lack of the more dodgy vampire-sex implications of nibbling. Every now and then Sid gets his sinusy dander up and declines absolutely to respond to pain-killers. I'm at the point where I'm eyeing the rum bottle speculatively.
However! I am pleased to report that the combination of exhaustion and exposure to multisyllabic academic jargon in spades is not, in fact, precluding interesting dreams. The other night I had a journey to the deep, windy, winding, dust-filled canyons of Mars, to bury the space-ship under a handy mountain and build the beautiful wide-balconied sandstone house at the head of the gorge, in order to raise strange alien flowers in pots. The advent of the small, pale, plump, sweetly childlike actual Martians was a bit of a blow as we had to pack up and leave, and they were really rather rude to us. Then last night I had a serious secret-agent hunt on, down the length of a fast-moving train through a desert landscape and in Victorian dress, going after the slim olive-skinned teenagers possessed of the nasty demon things which gave them the swirling eyes, and who I subsequently shot with considerable skill. There's something particularly satisfying about the kind of dream where you find you know exactly how to load and fire both an automatic and a Desert Eagle loaded with swanky occult bullets, at super-speeds and with throwaway calm. (Even if subsequent research reveals that the thing the dream labelled "Desert Eagle" was actually a particularly long-barrelled revolver). I found myself taking mental notes for future reference, just in case. I just hope my subconscious actually put the damned safety catch in the right place.
I shall now go and watch the season finale of Vampire Diaries, having the sense, possibly unjustly, that I've bloody earned it.
It also doesn't help that I spent the last two days taking exhaustive notes at an exhausting workshop, which was remarkably filled with sweetness, light and co-operation for a bunch of academics talking about merging departments, but which has nonetheless left me feeling like a piece of string on which Sid has been nibbling for two days, with a sad and absolute lack of the more dodgy vampire-sex implications of nibbling. Every now and then Sid gets his sinusy dander up and declines absolutely to respond to pain-killers. I'm at the point where I'm eyeing the rum bottle speculatively.
However! I am pleased to report that the combination of exhaustion and exposure to multisyllabic academic jargon in spades is not, in fact, precluding interesting dreams. The other night I had a journey to the deep, windy, winding, dust-filled canyons of Mars, to bury the space-ship under a handy mountain and build the beautiful wide-balconied sandstone house at the head of the gorge, in order to raise strange alien flowers in pots. The advent of the small, pale, plump, sweetly childlike actual Martians was a bit of a blow as we had to pack up and leave, and they were really rather rude to us. Then last night I had a serious secret-agent hunt on, down the length of a fast-moving train through a desert landscape and in Victorian dress, going after the slim olive-skinned teenagers possessed of the nasty demon things which gave them the swirling eyes, and who I subsequently shot with considerable skill. There's something particularly satisfying about the kind of dream where you find you know exactly how to load and fire both an automatic and a Desert Eagle loaded with swanky occult bullets, at super-speeds and with throwaway calm. (Even if subsequent research reveals that the thing the dream labelled "Desert Eagle" was actually a particularly long-barrelled revolver). I found myself taking mental notes for future reference, just in case. I just hope my subconscious actually put the damned safety catch in the right place.
I shall now go and watch the season finale of Vampire Diaries, having the sense, possibly unjustly, that I've bloody earned it.
