Thursday, October 27, 2011


I had two apocalyptic dreams last night, and woke up in time for an earthquake. If that's not the world telling me to get a move and a shake on, I don't know what is.

The dreams were kind of interesting, actually — scary when I woke up out of them, but thinking back not so horrific. In the first, the human population had been decimated by some disaster, and, on the island of Manhattan, was split into two factions. I somehow was one of the leaders of one faction, and was trying my darnedest to convince the leaders of the other faction that it would be best for humanity to join together to the cause of survival. My persuasion techniques included rhetorical argument, an appeal to common sense, and womanly wiles. I had to convince all the leaders before the conflict escalated into a full-out war ... as much of a war as an endangered race of beings could have.

In the second dream, we were cleaning out and packing up the house in anticipation of the next morning, when "they" would come pick us up with large buses and take us away. (Side note: whenever I dream about my "home", it's usually the house my parents currently live in, and which I lived in during middle and high school, but always on the street we lived on when I was in elementary school. Not sure what that means.) My dog Chloe was there — in real life, she died 10 months ago — and after the cleaning, the entire neighborhood was at the bar partying it up like there was no tomorrow. Probably because none of us expected to be alive tomorrow. I made a goodbye call to my best friend, who was really rather blasé that my world was about to end. I woke up just as the white (yellow? I don't exactly remember) buses pulled up into the cul-de-sac, and the call was out for us to get on them.

All sorts of surreal.

In real life:

Bad thing that happened this week: I came home Monday evening to find burnt beans in my crockpot, instead of baked. Not enough liquid, I guess, but it was disappointing. What a waste of bacon.

(One) Good thing that happened this week: I came home today to find the photo prints I ordered last week had arrived. Now I just have to sort through them and put them into albums. The prints span over the last two or three years of my life, and I'd been wanting to print them up for a long time. Digital pictures are nice and all, but I feel like you don't get the same enjoyment from them as you do with an actual physical print. Call me old-fashioned, I guess.

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