kittydesade: (o captain my captain)
Gaeilge )

Well, that was a strangeass dream. Something to do with a guy I was cuddling up to who looked like Chuck (from Supernatural) but wasn't Chuck... actually he kind of looked like a mix between that guy and TJ Thyne. And we were being used as a case example in some discussion on bad relationships, how to recognize if you're in one, and how to get out of one if you are. Not that, apparently, we were, in the dream I felt perfectly safe with whoeverthatwas and he seemed to return my affections, so there was that. And somehow this all went into living in a college-student-type apartment building with someone who I think was Caleb from The Covenant (at least I know where that came from, looking at Magic City pictures a couple days ago) and then there were animal familiars, mostly dogs. Only one of them was a demon that bit someone's hand off. Maybe Caleb's. Woke up. Went back to sleep. Had combat and chase dreams.

I'm at the point with Irish and maybe all the rest of the languages -- again -- where I'm wondering why I bother. Seven languages in one head no one can live at that speed blah blah bitchcakes. Mostly I think this is just annoying me because there are so few exercises in the Irish book that it's all slipping through and now I need to come up with review for that AND Japanese. Which annoys me. Oh well.

Once more into the breach. Did an asston of packing this weekend, stacked all the boxes around in the spare room. At some point this week, maybe if I'm not too tired tonight (HAH!) I'll take the stuff off the spare room bed and collapse the bed frame so there's more floor space for boxes. All the mini stuff needs to be collected into the mini tubs and then those can just get stacked on bookshelves. So much crap, so little time to organize it all.

Did find out that Peter Wingfield was in Caprica. Which sort of comes under why was this not listed among our assets in the first place but hey, now we know. Now maybe once Grimm goes off for the summer break we'll have time to watch and ogle and drool over him and Roiz.

And now the emailing of everyone's contact information to bloody everyone else is done, and now the cluster of home-purchasing-related-people who are helping me with my Old Hotness can all talk amongst themselves. And, no doubt, come to me with any snags or hiccups or things for me to sign. Logistics. Intellectually, I understand that being the one who's active and around during the day, I'm the point of contact for the Me-and-Boy collective. Energywise I'm so ready to be done with being Logistics Girl. Maybe that's my superhero name. I will ORGANIZE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU.

Ahem. Work. Monday backlog of orders and tidying for now, followed by German and CS at lunch, followed by more orders and tidying and hopefully putting away of boxes please I can has? A new box shipment today? Followed by, if I'm very very lucky, working on Black Ice this afternoon. And if not, tonight, but bleh. At least I have spaghetti sauce for a quick dinner tonight.

Yeah, welcome to my incredibly boring life. I'ma gonna go water some Irish now.
kittydesade: (priestess)
日本語 )

And Arabic accounting here and here. I think it's getting easier, slowly but surely? My handwriting is also getting way smaller. Although I might need to reinstitute the practice of using lines. Which might just involve making a sheet of lines and slipping it under whatever page I'm working on. And I definitely need to figure out how to refill my ink cartridges with a syringe, because they're emptying way too quickly. Problems I hadn't realized I'd have when I started this! In a way, this makes me even more eager to get this house deal done and get the house, because then I can have a real desk at which to do this. I hope.

Well, that was possibly the weirdest collection of dreams I've had in a while. Highlights include going to the women's bathroom of some communal living thing that was laid out a bit like an old dorm or a hotel. Either it was a woman's dorm or it was the women's bathroom, I'm not sure which. I was talking to some friend, and we were getting undressed to bathe. Yes, bath, not shower, as is customary. The bath was pretty nice and deep, though, it would have been a fun soak. People are going up and down the hallway of both sexes, so I'm assuming in was the women's bathroom, or during the day men are allowed? Or something. And there's a knock and I open the door and it's either Rupert Graves or Lestrade. I'm more inclined to believe Lestrade. And he makes some kind of would-be snarky comment except he's too busy trying not to stare. And I'm not helping by basically being aggressive with my very naked body language. Sort of Irene Adler-y, at least Moffat's interpretation of her. And then I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, and ... OH. Oh god, ahaah, now I remember what the conversation was about, somehow this got around to my weight. I think because he threatened to pick me up. And I told him yes, I was 5'1" and about 150, 160. And he started to say 120 and I corrected him and he sort of stammered, and I pointed out that I was very, very solid. And he could find out for himself, and that led to pressing up against him and arms around and kissing and so on. And I'm pretty sure he didn't know where to put his hands.

So, that happened in my dream. And then later I'm wandering the halls in my bathrobe and somehow I end up knocking on Misha Collins' unit door, because he's in the dorm hall? Or his wife is and he's just bunking with her, as you do when you're in college. In your late thirties. I don't judge. And I'm in my bathrobe or lounge clothes, or anyway not real grown up clothes but not naked anymore. And I come in and for some reason there's been a last minute cancellation and I need him or his wife for something. I ask... first I ask him about calculating something. Then he shrugs and says ask her, she's on the computer. So I ask her to calculate something, allowing for inflation in the last 5 years and the increase in value in something-to-do-with-Misha. I don't know what. I mean, the increase in value I get given that he's now all over the internet, but I don't remember what I was asking originally. She calculates in, we talk, we bond apparently over my economical savvy? Of all things. And their taste in comics, since they have most to all of the Akira manga on their bookshelf.

Anyway, so we end up running off with Misha Collins' wife as some last minute addition to some kind of team doing something? And we all have to prepare for this mission, which might have been what I was doing in the bathing sequence. And apparently for Misha's wife this involves drinking some foul tasting concoction of milk and some kind of powder that looks like blue flecks. And she drank half a small pitcher in one swallow and made terrible grimaces while I stretched out on the floor, using some guy as a spotter. And all of us were discussing our assignment. And then I woke up.

So, really, what the hell, brain. Although now I have this urge to write shameless Lestrade-oriented self-insert steamy fiction. Not even necessarily NC17 rated, just steamy. Or maybe kinky porn. I don't know. It's a weird urge. And I need to finish that All You Can Kink Kink Bingo before February ends. Too distracted with house stuff. God, there's a whole list of things I want to write today. This weekend. Plus pack, plus make beans. All right, let's ennumerate them.

1. Lestrade fic-kle.
2. Loki/Darcy
3. J3

4. Long Road
5. Subversive Mummies
6. BigBang Mixups
7. Organize Triumvirate world-building
8. Organize mecha for BBM story.

And that's not as big a list as I thought, but it's sizable. Okay, and now for the latest in house news: WE ARE UNDER CONTRACT. Which means finally, fucking finally we might be able to get the inspector in. Appointment's scheduled for Thursday. And right now it's just the inspector and getting the funding, which we have to do quicklyish, but which should be very do-able. I'm not sure how close to home we are, I'd say, pretty close? But at least we're a step further than we were, which, considering this all feels like slogging through sulphur-reeking mud, is all good by me. (And then again at the same time we started just casually looking in January. So it's probably moving much faster than I think it is.) We're under contract. That means, I hope, that no one can snipe the house out from under me. That's all I want for right now. Now I can collect data and chew on it till it becomes clay.

Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today!
kittydesade: (best foot forward)
Gaeilge )

So, I'm definitely going to have to review that Irish because half of it was spent hearing it in Carlyle's thick Scots accent, which is completely the wrong languages although the right family, and the other half was giggling over "uisce." Also half of the Irish word for whiskey, for those of you who didn't know.

Feel somewhat better after a good night's sleep, anyway. Even if I did have this weird dream about some sort of biker who looked a bit like Billy Drago and had four eyes. Or rather, had two eyes, since two of the four were glass eyes implied to have looked normal originally (except for there being TWO OF THEM) but he declined the offer of realistic glass eyes and went for creepy red and black ones. Four eyes. Two where they would normally be placed and two about half-sized ones to the outer sides of his orbital sockets. Apparently I found either his or a friend of his' old Harley Davidson watch, and returned it to him despite it being an awesome watch that I wanted to keep. In my dream I found the eyes perfectly normal, and the bikers were cuddly. Now that I'm awake that is going straight into Black Ice.

Going to the bank to talk about house stuff today. This probably should make me more nervous or something, but mostly I'm just tired and impatient and want this to be over.

Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today!
kittydesade: (every night i burn)
Русский язык )

I have no idea what the hell happened last night. It was supposed to be a restful, sleepy night. And it kind of was! There was Leverage, there was Japanese and poking the guitar and nommy foods.

And then I went to bed and curled up and was almost asleep, I'd say probably into starting to dream asleep, when all of a sudden I hear this very loud, sharp sound that was somewhere between a bang, a crash, and a scream. And my eyes open and the first thing that registers is that I can't see a damn thing. And then I go through my mental checklist of, first, where's the nearest weapon (long knife and sword under the bed), next, is there a blackout because that could have been a transformer blowing (there isn't because the clock light and fan are still on at least), third, is it all in my head? (increasingly looking that way) and lastly, is this one of those weird future/sideways visions that are increasingly about death? (probably not).

(The weird future visions is sort of the bastard child of precognition and hindbrain extrapolating from facts. The night or so before Andrew Koenig and Jeff Conaway died/turned up dead, I had a dream about reading their obituaries in the paper. In both cases it would seem to be fairly easy to extrapolate except it was the exact same text and website as in my dream, which was a little freaky.)

So instead of sleeping like I wanted to do I got to wander around the house, call the boy (whose phone went straight to voice mail of course), and poke the internet for something diverting while I calmed my heartbeat to normal instead of jackhammer speeds. Not what I wanted to do.

I have no idea how much of what I want to get done I'm actually going to get done today, but on the plus side, I re-read my Horror Big Bang last night and I didn't hate it. It didn't suck. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with it, although I'm pretty sure it's not going to follow the outline, but since I haven't shown it to anyone but my beta team that doesn't matter so much. I do still need to get out and get the monofilament thread, if it's at the bead store. I should also walk up to the fresh corner and get some apples. I should at least try to pick up my workstation some. Things, stuff. Incoming is relatively quiet, at least. Who knows what outgoing will be like. Blargh. I'd take a day off but, Dragon*Con. Cannot afford. Ah well.
kittydesade: (facepalm - dean)
Oh right. I was going to post this.

Starts out in the back of this van with a guy who may or may not be my boyfriend. He keeps shifting back between an ex and the boyfriend. It's raining, we're half-heartedly trying to keep the windows and doors closed but rain like ash keeps coming in. And we're talking. I don't remember what we're talking about but eventually I have to get up and go somewhere.

Somewhere turns out to be this classroom that looks like it's in the anthro building at college. Actually it looks like the old classroom, go in and turn left and you're there? The desks have been cleared to the side from the floor and we're learning magic. We're learning magic from this roundish older guy who's trying to teach us something that gives me the creeping jeebies. I'm not sure what the techniques are but eventually I get fed up with it and start pushing questions at him. I keep pushing questions until it turns into a battle of wills. Then it turns into a battle of magic. By this time I've realized that he's actually teaching the indoctrination lessons of a cult leader who's a major dark magician, and while the teacher doesn't have much power in and of himself the person who's pulling the strings does. I go head to head in a magical battle with the teacher, who keeps manipulating shadows and energy. I win, because although this class was supposed to teach some kind of fundamentals of magical theory I'm actually more powerful and, through what I've gleaned from intuition etc, better skilled. I manage to pry the guy from his master's control, and at least a part of it involves the pipe music from Dark Crystal. Go figure. I use that as a focusing device; another student joins in on a flute because she recognizes it. The people in the background, the other students, tehy actually recognize it as the music from Dark Crystal too, but since I'm singing I can't actually explain to them how I'm using it as a focusing device. By the end of the song the teacher is out from under the influence of the dark magician, at least for now. The pathways are still in him to be influenced by the man.

Then the nightmare really begins. I ask the class, including the former teacher, if they want to learn real magic. I'm a little shaky about this but since I know magic and I know I'm not under the influence of anyone, I'd be a better teacher than the other guy. So I start getting the desks set back up and go to sit on the front desk, and the guy goes to the bathroom, and then the screaming starts. The dark magician has apparently learned that his lackey is loose and decided to take steps. And while I watch and try to put a cage or a shield around the man, his heart slowly bursts in his chest and his eyes turn black from the blood and he dies screaming. Yay.

There were more details to the magical battle but I can't remember them right now. Then I woke up.
kittydesade: (bale is like fries)
Русский язык )

Damn, I slept later than I meant to. I know I set the alarm. Weird.

So, I'm walking in the English northern countryside with some people. Someone is... I don't know who he is, he's tall and kind of lean and light brown/dark blond haired and he's played by some actor who kind of wants to be the bastard child of Cillian Murphy and Garrett Hedlund (go on, picture it all you Tron: Legacy fans) and we're talking about the people with us. One of the people with us is Nope. Another is the bastard child of Jason Statham and Ron Perlman, so, clearly, we're in a cheap action movie. Probably with lots of monster effects. We're here to pick up a guy.

The guy turns out to be Christian Bale.

Suddenly I'm a very happy dreamer.

We're also there to do something for The Military. Whose military? I don't know, it looks like the end scene of 28 Days Later. With a chickenwire fence we're walking alongside. I'm talking with Cillian Hedlund about cute guys, I don't know if he's putting up with me or joining in. We're walking, we go through this residential stock shot of a San Francisco neighborhood but we're still in England, I don't know why. Bale gets us all into this fairly large clearly jury rigged industrial equipment type contraption, with huge tires and armor. I organize us before we get in so we can all get in efficiently because there are Bad Things on the way. Of course there are. The only line from this I remember is someone, possibly Bale or Jason Perlman, saying something about these guys shoot, these guys lookout, and "Girlfriends stay quiet." I look at the only other woman in this scene and we both shrug and I say "No girlfriends here." Because a) it's true and b) we can hold our own weight, fuck you very much.

So we start down the hill/countryside/I don't even know anymore, and we're jolting and riding along, and then someone says "Here they come." And I don't see anything at first, but then we're riding down into an army enclave, fortified, and the requisite horde of zombie/shambling evil masses comes shambling down. They're not quite as fast as 28 Days Later/Resident Evil: endofworldnounhere, but close. Faster than shamblers, anyway. We start firing. We take out some soldiers, too, I think Bale did it because he looks very Bruce Wayne but acts very Reign of Fire. We all get into the enclave, and seal the doors shut behind us.

And now it all becomes apparent what this is about because Bale is opening up some kind of serum container and tossing it to me to toss to the authorities while he organizes our defenses. It's a yellow liquid in a Hollywood "safe storage this is toxic/important/dangerous/radioactive" container. It's also kind of glowing. Clearly this is a Paul Verhoeven or someone or other movie. If it were Michael Bay, shit would have blown up already. I pass it along, and the shamblers are at our door, and there's chaos and for some reason instead of being dressed how I was now I'm dressed for post-apocalyptic success, in a rough cotton shirt and cargo pants and some kind of hand-woven big brown poncho thing that's probably only brown because it's covered in post-apocalypse dust. And I go to the back door which is now crawling in shamblers, I don't know why or what happened to our defenses, and they stop. They just stop.

And, and this is the weird part. Behind me, Bale and a bunch of other humans (including, I think, Ron Statham, I don't know where Garrett Murphy went to) are watching me wondering why the hell they stopped when they saw me and if there's a way they can get out of this without being either infected or lunch. And now I know, I didn't learn I just sort of know now, that they picked me up in some sort of between-zone, between our territory and theirs. My mind makes this distinction, but still.

Oh, and the shamblers have turned to roughly human shaped people in fluffy neon-colored stuffed-toy puppetish dog suit things. I shit you not. The one I'm talking to is neon pink. As stuffed toy dogs sometimes are.

And they're all crowding together and asking if the [unintelligible word meaning human] people are going to kill them all, and I say I don't think so, they just want to be left alone, and then they ask me what kinds of weapons they have, and a few more questions besides, and over the course of this conversation it becomes clear that if the human side of this doesn't have enough weapons of mass zombie annihilation they're going to get these weapons taken away from them and then... dominated? Probably killed. And I don't know how I feel about this because I was only half-heartedly trying to convince the Puppy People not to, while Bale is standing behind me looking, oh! Terminator: Salvation, that's what he looked and acted like. And I'm standing there in the finest in post-apocalypse chic negotiating for humanity's right to survive and not be bitten by a stuffed toy.

Hey, Supernatural writers. I found your next episode script. Want it back?
kittydesade: (bad day)
kittydesade: (morning ugh)
... Someone explain to me why I'm having dreams about war games? No, seriously.

It started out where me and a bunch of people, about 20 people in all, were going on a ride-along with some SWAT team or something. And then I find out it's a live-fire exercise. And then I find out no, it's an actual raid on something, and most of the people are blase and 'oh it'll be fun' while I'm thinking, this is for real, you morons. With real bullets.

And then of all things it detours into me schlepping a heavy-ass bag to the front of my old apartment complex, which had a gas station, a subway, and a dry cleaners. Well, now it has a police station. Ish. Something. Or maybe it's an airsoft dealer, the point is, I follow this police looking guy in and ask for tips. So he's showing me how to shoot when the bus comes to pick us all up. Yay.

And somehow then we get taken to this big Japanese garden/dojo looking thing, and we're up against either the cast of Ninja Warrior All Stars or a bunch of black belt students from some martial arts school. So I start shouting for everyone to stop and demanding to see the Emperor (!!??!?!?!) now. And it turns out that whatever this is, it's a war game, and i end up negotiating with the Emperor (or someone representing him) for a cessation of hostilities. Successfully. Kind of through acting like John Connors from Rising Sun but not quite, with actual Japanese this time. And a whole fuckton of Priestessing and being authoritative and parsing people. And he compliments me on my style and asks me why I did certain things and where I learn and I'm explaining to him sort of in the manner of Jane from The Mentalist exactly why I chose to do what, where, and...

Then I woke up. Seriously, brain, what the HELL.
kittydesade: (eh?)
Russian )

There's actually more to that exercise, involving constructing a small bit of dialogue around those sentences, but I'll save that for tomorrow.

OMGWTFBBQANVILS. I wake up, I still feel kind of woozy, I go back to bed rather than exercise because hell, I could do with another hour and a half or so of sleep? I have nightmares. About losing my kitty Michelle in a pet grooming place and every cat I pick up that looks like her turns out to look like something completely different when I have her in my arms and I look in her kitty carrier and there's two halves of the back paw and the last inch or so of a tail in there, like she's got them cut off of her, AUGH. Plus before that I had a fun dream about my grandfather being in the middle stages of Alzheimer's. DO NOT WANT.

Ahem. Work looks like it'll be busy today. But I did get a start on outlines yesterday, so there's that. And... something. Squirrels. Still discombobulated by nightmares.

I want one of the legendary three dragons. Pout.

Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today! Adopt one today!
kittydesade: (blood makes noise)
... Okay! Well, if they'd done Sylar like that, more people might still be watching Heroes.

Or they might be hiding behind the couch. Or under it.

I have no idea what in the world's blazing hell prompted that nightmare but I never want to have it again. Ever. I don't even remember how he escalated but it was something about a telekinetic serial killer and kitchen knives and holding a bunch of people hostage in a room and a self-inflicted trans-orbital lobotomy so I was having to talk to, very calmly, a man with the hilt of a carving knife or something sticking out of his head just above his eye and blood all over his face. While he brandished another knife at everyone claiming they'd see, or be enlightened or something. This after I'd been walking up and down on the phone to my family trying to say goodbye without saying goodbye or something strange like that.

The fact that he seemed to glom onto me as the only sympathetic person in the office-building type building was not reassuring or helpful. In any way. Gah. What the hell brain?

I woke up at 5.30 with that one. I may go back to bed for a bit; no exercises are going to happen today, back still twitchy. No worse than it was yesterday, and a hot shower did help, so maybe a whole lot of slow stretching and heat applications will eventually finish the job. Ugh.
kittydesade: (Default)
... My kitchen still smells of Moroccan chicken. Awesome.

Right. Dreams about John Winchester on a hunt? Kind of oddly hot, in a lumpy and fuzzy sort of a way.

Dreams about John Winchester meeting me and my crazy family at a restaurant to talk to me about said hunt? Hysterical. Anything involving John Winchester meeting my family is hysterical.

Dreams about me, John Winchester, my siblings, and a woman with her four or five year old girl on her lap with NO EYE and a flap of skin hanging down from her FACE because she thought playing with and petting the already cranky leopard was a GOOD IDEA, and now John is driving her to the HOSPITAL? NOT COOL, BRAIN. NOT COOL.

Not even sure that qualifies as a nightmare, just. What the hell.
kittydesade: (brain worms)
Dear Brain,

Knock it off with the spider dreams already. Seriously. First the begin stuck in a small enclosed area with six spider webs, two of which have big spiders in them, one of which has a giant spider web with a dessicated bat what the hell?

And then somehow you switch to me having a conversation in some city with some chick about how I'm going to champion Latina rights. What the fuck?

No love,


ETA: And then there was a thing in my shower that had more than the maximum allowable number of legs for all things occupying my shower.
kittydesade: (chicks dig scars)
All that said, why am I having dreams about running into two old friends from this area (one of whom doesn't even live here anymore), going on a bike ride with one, winding up in the mud with him shirtless making out and all...

And then Sam Fucking Elliott turns up with two others I don't know who they are to "ahem" politely and be amused at us. WTF, brain.
kittydesade: (blonde in blue pyjamas)
So. Um. Apparently 'cause I'm writing tragedy now, means that I must dream in it. Or something. Along with a Nightwish-Clannad soundtrack. Something about Roland and me and a couple other people including at least one of the kids from Newsies on a bus heading through a vaguely The-Stand-post-flu-pre-Boulder USA. Bunch of us, after a bit. Just driving. Looking for the Dark Tower, as you do when you're with Roland.

And then we stop over at Viggo Mortensen's house. Or rather, his character's house, Tom Stall. Except, weirdly? Tom Stall's house looks like my aunt's farmhouse. Anyway, we stop over there to resupply, because apparently we have his son on our Dark Tower trip. And something happens and we're all picking out books to take and food and then there's a phone call. And I put on a headset and answer the phone in a crisp, quick, professional voice, kind of like I do at work. As you do, when you're at someone else's house. And it's the police from another county, looking for Stall to arrest him in homicide charges. Well, what do you do when the police want to know if you know where a suspect is?

Lie, of course.

So I lied and told him he wasn't here, I couldn't see him, there were a lot of kids around (which I had already told him, hang on, let me go somewhere quieter) so. But I was standing right next to him. And he gives me this 'what's up' look and I tell him that cops want to see him, tell Roland to go out to the bus. And I tell him about the cop from this state wanting him and someone else for murder, and he gets this 'sigh. oh yeah' look. And then the cop shows up.

And he's standing in the corner of the building by the door. And I'm standing next to him in front of the door. And he, randomly? Has guns on his hip. Like the gunslinger. And I'm telling him to give me the gun as his hands are hovering over his guns and the cop's pointing the gun at him and telling him not to be stupid and his wife's staring at us both not freaking out by an incredible act of will. And I tell him it's going to be all right. And finally, he pulls the gun but in the very slow, I'm-setting-this-down way. And the cop's all good, that's good. Because he's a good cop. Played by Tommy Lee Jones. For some reason it was all actors in my dream.

And then he's toppling to the ground after a loud bang, in that tree-falling way you do when you've been shot in a movie. In slo-motion. Big hole in his head. Like, the kind you can see daylight through. Or put your fist through. Well, maybe my fist, I have a small fist. And his wife's screaming and crying, and Im screaming you didn't have to do that and his partner, former partner, who evidently shot him, who comes walking out now, and who is somehow played by Bruce Campbell, says he would have wanted to go down shooting. And I cuss him out for being ten kinds of a moron and put Tom's head on my knee 'cause for some reason he's still alive, even if he's not thinking too clearly (would you with that big a hole in your head?) and I tell him it's okay. Tell him it's going to be all right. That he did good. And I touch his cheek and stroke his hair and he dies.

Tommy Lee Jones arrests Bruce Campbell. I tell him Tom/Viggo really had changed. He says that's not his job, but it sure looked like it. I wake up to a Clannad-Nightwish soundtrack, the slow lilting mourning kind.
kittydesade: (ripples (nopejr))
I was at the beach house. With a bunch of other people, we needed some place to stop to stretch our legs and I volunteered the place. We were all hanging out, poking at things, there were a bunch of cats chasing mice, sea shells, it was very pretty. I don't remember the beginning part.

The clearest part was when I picked up the cat mask. Actually it was a cat face. Almost a mummified face. But it was almost in perfect condition. Orangish cat. It even had eyes, don't ask me how that happened, it's a dream. I carried it cupped in my hands up to the house, and everyone wanted to see. Bits of the edges of it started to flake off.

I wanted to get to one room where I knew there was something I could paint over it, a clear lacquer shell that would keep it intact. People kept wanting to touch it. Two guys, they were driving, and they said we had to go. I said, you go, I'm staying here. I was almost in tears at this point, screaming at people to keep away. I didn't want them breaking any more of it off. I got to the room I was going to, it was my grandparents', the master bedroom. It was small but pretty. Mostly empty, as the beach house usually is, with the big closets. On a table there were some pretty glass perfume vials in gold and coppers and oranges and browns that cast a light over the room. On a shelf beneath that, some clear nail polish, and that was what I was going for.

I went over and sat in front of the table and started to brush nail polish over the mask. One guy, the guy who had been walking with my trying to convince me to go the whole time, finally shut up and sat down and watched. People started to come in. One guy, at first. The first guy who was watching said something like, hold on, I think I know what she's doing. The other guy picked it up, and the ears fell off.

I cried. I screamed at him to leave me alone, and I tried to put the ears back on. I managed to get the one side that I'd already painted with clear nail polish back on. The other, I held to the mask very carefully while I glued it back. Two women came in behind him, then, the second guy, arguing. I told them to go away, that I'd stay and come back later, j ust go away. I'd be fine. And I knew I would, because it was my beach house. My family's house. The one guy who'd been sitting with me said he thought he knew what I was doing, and that he'd stay too. But they kept trying to pick up the mask while I was trying to glue/lacquer it back together. Beautiful orange kitty face. Delicate, though. If oyu picked it up wrong it would flake apart.

And then I woke up.

I don't think you need to be a rocket scientist to interpret this one.
kittydesade: (randomity (nopejr))
Weirdass dreams last night. About wandering around with Roland, a boy who was not Jake yet somehow, and my cat. We stopped at a farm place where a woman was living with her son, and then her ex husband came home waving around a gun, really drunk. I tricked him into lighting himself briefly (and not really dangerously) on fire. Then she told me to take her boy and run inside, we did, and the man in a fit of drunken stupidity shot his son. Roland debated, out loud and half with me, half with himself, on taking the man to ... what I can only describe as the Dark Tower version of a hell dimension. I think it involved Sayre. Towards the last part of while he was doing this, I called up someone, started speaking with a thick and almost caricaturized Southern drawl. So were they. We talked for a while, then they came up the stairs and healed the boy. I was still on the phone becaus apparently they can't talk. They just talk through telephones. Weird human-looking people from other worlds. Then Roland said we were done here, so we picked up our boy and my cat and left. Apparently I was his ... little portable rose. This kind of makes sense. And yet, I'm dreaming about it.

Oh yeah. Roland looked like the bastard child of Stephen King and Tommy Lee Jones.

Does that seem right to you?

ETA: And lo, the one day I'd actually like to go home and get writing done, is the one day the numbers crash and they don't send anyone home.

kittydesade: (buh?)
Most strange dreams. I was on an island... swampy island, or at least muddy, my feet kept sinking. I was with a lot of college students. It was an island in what seemed like the ocean, the Mediterranean ocean or something similarly blue. I had a swimsuit on, and a couple of notebooks in one hand. And a pencil. There were what seemed to be ruins around. I remember taking certain steps in the sand, five steps, each one created a grinding noise and opened something in a hidden temple, the way it does in the movies. I remember writing these steps down.

I go exploring some more, and vivid as it was, I don't remember it. I remember the next part more. Unmemorable yet cute college boy comes up and starts talking to me. Starts teasing me. Grabs my notebooks and run off with them. I get annoyed. Go back to... a building? Base camp? Something. Get some equipment, get ready to go back to the water and look for my notebooks. For some reason it was either a Live-Action RolePlay game, or a scavenger hunt. Not quite sure. Survivor was vaguely mentioned. [ profile] sister_bluebird was there, briefly. I gave her back her notebook with sketches in it that I'd found on a table.

The part I do remember was grabbing another nondescript cute college guy and telling him to go find the guy who stole my notebooks. And somehow another NyC college boy came into the picture, along with... his sister? Who vaguely looked like Tess. And the guy who stole my books was there. And suddenly we were in a darker alley. And I told him not to fuck around with me anymore or I'd stab him in the eye with my pencil. And he laughed and said yeah, do it. And I raised my pencil and then lowered it. And he laughed and turned away. And then I stabbed him in the side with my pencil. And he gives me this shocked look and turns and stumbles away. I can see this red spot starting to grow on his side. One of the guys looks at me in shock and goes after him. The other two look at me.

Guy comes back a little while later, tells me the guy I stabbed is dead. I remember saying "Oh well, guess I'm going to jail." The two guys start walkign wtih me to the principle's/sherrif's office. I remember comforting them, saying it won't be that bad, I'll be all right in jail. First offense, and first.. something. And one of them says I was provoked. And something more about everything we're going to tell the judge.

I remember going in front of a judge. To confess. I think I pleaded no contest. And I remember knowing more about how the procedure worked than the judge did. They said something about my writing. Not so mucht he quality as how much I knew, how much I researched. I started waking upa fter that, I don't know what happened then.

Oogh. Right. Breakfast.
kittydesade: (tea madam? (fluffy_mun))
Right. No more Angel before bed.

Starts off with me and Wes talking. About a choice I have to make between him and... Gunn? Who winds up being James Woods from John Carpenter's Vampires. Something romantic. Wes and I are in some old house that I think is supposed to be the family's cabin. Talking about something. I think at one point he wanders off to take a bath. He's got that grotty sweater on from 'Expecting.' He hugs me, and I think I know which way I'm inclining. There's also a couple of intelligent spiders, but I can't remember that plot.

Cut to... it's me, [ profile] suburbaknight, a couple girls ... crap. I just remembered one of them and now I can't. I think they were from college. James Woods, Wes, and Gunn is still flickering in and out there. And I've got a big bottle of blue curacao that for some reason I keep calling Jose Cuervo and it takes me a while to find shotglasses because I'm panicking about a demon coming for us and killing the world. James Woods has apparently lived through this before and keeps giving me pointers. APparently one of the first signs is that there's shit all over the lawn. Literally. It's orange. And it's in little piles. Almost everyone else starts playing cards. A lot of walls and doors in the house are painted white.

Cut to a field with a few trees. We're getting ready for the big showdown. I'm still scared, but we're trying to come up with a plan. Faith is there. So is some guy who keeps flickering between Max Evans and Cyclops. Heeeee. Liz Parker is there, but she's just lounging on a blanket. And Fluffy's there. Or Mike. He can't seem to decide between the two. We talk, discuss things for a while. I keep freaking out. Until I realize that somehow Mike/Fluffy and I can combine our powers to ignite all the methane from what is essentially a shit demon. And somehow Fluffy/Mike can keep it shielded, or us shielded. I'm flying around like I've already got my powers. He's trying to jump out of trees; Max/Cyclops tells him no, it's too soon, go home and study for tomorrow's test and practice. Fluffy/Mike asks if he can come over to my place to study, since he thinks they already know where he lives. I go, sure.

I'm flying around. I think he is too. We're still at the lawn. Max/Cyclops is on the phone to some guy while a bunch of people are laying out a blanket of many flags that somehow wind up blending together. Which is kind of cool in a wacky way. They're floating it up and down like we used to do as kids at Summer camp, with that whole quick=make-a-balloon-around-us-all thing. Max/Cyclops is on the phone to some guy and turns out he's bargaining to sell the world. Not evil, just a sell-out. Mike/Fluffy and I go up to him and go "Sorry, we've got to stop you." Turns out Mike/Fluffy is almost at full power. There's just one thing left that we need to do to ramp it up, and then we can save the world.

So we do it. And then I wake up.

ETA: *fixes LJ user tag* Bleh. I need more sleep. Today, hopefully, it will be get out of work early, go to bookstore grab book, go to Charlie, see movie, squee over Depp. Go home. Stare at HP book and contemplate reading. Fall asleep instead. Also, need rest of series in hardcover to round out having books 5 and 6 in hardcover. Will have to get them. Later.
kittydesade: (Default)
There's nothing like having dreams about shaking worms off your rain-soaked and mud-splattered body and out of your clothing after having realized that they're all down your pants in the first place, and having to take half an hour to get them all off. Because some of them are clinging to your legs. Eew. *scoops brain out with a melon baller*

Happy 4th. I want to go back to bed.

But before I do. Does anyone remember a children's book, a while back, about witches with green noses? At least I think they had green noses. And they glowed. Witches with noses that glowed green. And something about making sandwiches. And the little witch whose nose didn't glow and she had to pretend or use makeup or something. 'cause this is driving me nuts, now.


kittydesade: (Default)

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