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Anxiety dreams.

Anxiety dreams. published on

Mine are about:


25% – Teaching classes I forgot I had and haven’t prepared for.

25% – Attending classes I forgot I had and haven’t prepared for.

It’s dumb how I pretty much fear airports more than anything else in the universe. I am going to be so bad at at it when I am a Lovecraft protagonist. My studies are going to lead me to the lost city of doomish things, and there are gonna be check-in kiosks in there.

Narrative forces.

Narrative forces. published on

While we were out, someone had constructed a tiny labyrinth in the driveway, so we pulled in very carefully. The tops of the labyrinth were green with moss and tiny vines, and throughout it were interspersed little courtyards with delicate, exquisite gardens, buildings, or machines inside them – the buildings and machines had no obvious purpose. thegeekgene and I tried to step into a couple of the courtyards big enough to get our feet into without breaking anything, to see if doing so would shrink us down and allow us to investigate, but we just broke the walls. Disappointed, we went inside.

A few minutes later, going outside again, the labyrinth was gone – there was one strange room taking up the entire driveway, in a vaguely Sicilian style on the outside, with dark wood panels engraved with a maze on the inside. It didn’t look like the same maze.

The building had a basement. We went down into it and, looking up a second stairwell, saw that it led to someplace other than our yard. (I considered going to get my camera so I could post this on Flickr.) It was bright and sunny and contained butterflies and singing birds. Clearly it was one of the cheerier genre of magical labyrinths, like the kind you’d find in a book with a title like Jewel Princess Adventures #3: Princess Sapphire and the Secret Treasure. It would be perfectly safe provided I didn’t try to enter any of the places you’ve got to be pure of heart to enter.

Authoritatively, on the basis of my extensive knowledge of the taxonomy of YA novel labyrinths, I explained this tothegeekgene. She got a torch – the kind that burns, I mean; I don’t know where she got it – and we climbed the stairs. A dark metal gate slammed down behind us, and the birds all started singing.

elongated_tito pulled us out with a rope (I’m not sure how that worked, maybe it was an Escape Rope from Pokemon) and I said, Clearly it’s actually an ironic labyrinth, that mimics one of the happy ones, and later one we’ll find unkind parodies of archetypes like the helpful old man, who will probably have What 20-Something Jerks Think Alzheimers Looks Like, and the doofy monster that talks about itself in the third person, who will be in the middle of an unpleasant divorce. It’s fine, we’ll just need to bring some extra supplies.

thegeekgene got a frying pan and some pecan pie, and I got a big knife and a bag. Despite having nearly been trapped by it once, we were still too excited about our magic labyrinth to want to go any further than the kitchen for our supplies.

I don’t care what Mom says, my hair looks fine.

I don’t care what Mom says, my hair looks fine. published on

In last night’s dream the demon biologist who was driving me to the session of the Dark Congress pulled over so she could look at the hummingbirds. They were the size of swans, flying in repetitive formation over a small suburban house. They were constructed from bits of old brooms, with no legs and long sharpened beaks. Their wings whirred steadily, except for one that thumped sometimes from something broken.

The pattern in which they flew and the way they turned was extremely unsettling in the dream. I wonder if this is something I could reproduce in Maya, or if it’s one of those dream-things that exists without real pictorial form, only the impression of eeriness that it left on me.

The rest of it was a Disgaea dream. Apparently I ship Laharl/Flonne, which is possibly wrong-headed of me. While they were blushing and stammering at each other, Etna found the higher-level version of herself with the different color scheme and beat her down.

Rosencrantz the Draenei

Rosencrantz the Draenei published on

Had two anxiety dreams last night, then went back to sleep and had a Warcraft dream. I was a Blood Elf attempting to control my demoralized Horde scouting party in the Swamp of Sorrows, where a disaster had taken place, and some sort of level-?? sentient gas creature was stalking the Horde and Alliance in the area.

With the party was a Broken Draenei who was very sad and listless all the time, as well as kind of dumb. But he was the best Mage we had (can Draenei even be Mages?), so I bullied him into doing stuff. His name was “Rosencrantz,” and he had a one-handed mace and nothing in his off-hand. I don’t know.

I should mention that I was a fairly unambiguously evil Blood Elf – I killed some guy for purely character-establishment-related reasons early on – even though I was wearing plate, and so presumably a Paladin. I was also dual-wielding a sword and a polearm. This is clearly badass. I don’t know what a Paladin was doing with Titan’s Grip, maybe I just hit a Warrior so hard it like, fell out.

(Man, I just looked it up and Titan’s Grip doesn’t work on Polearms. Screw that.)

Finally most of my party rebelled against me and ran off to join a party of Dark Iron dwarves nearby, taking Rosencrantz with them, just as the gas creature overwhelmed us. My PoV then switched over to Rosencrantz, and I was feeling guilty about having left the Blood Elf behind, despite the fact that she said mean things to me. I think the dream was setting up to have her come back and sneak into the dwarf encampment and demand I help her with something. But then a dog or something banged into my door and I woke up.

This is not a particularly interesting dream, but it amuses me how clear my subconscious was about everyone’s classes and gear. Also, that it made the Dark Iron dwarves nice and helpful to the defectors – clearly it is impatient with this creepy The Black Dwarves And Tauren Are Evil shit of Blizzard’s. I just wish it had specified whether or not the Blood Elf’s name was Guildenstern.

Story from half-asleep on the shinkansen

Story from half-asleep on the shinkansen published on

Many years ago, the Good Queen was killed by a usurper Princess, and her only child lost. But the magicians say that the child, the true King or Queen, will come back someday, and make things right. So every ruler since then, no matter what they try to call themselves or what they do to the people, has been called only Prince or Princess.

In the mountains, there live fairies who know ways of taking a human outside of time. The child must be with them, given away by someone loyal to the Good Queen, to protect him or her from the usurper’s blade. But no one who went to look has ever gotten the child back.

The Prince now is very wicked. A young soldier in his army was too kind to an enemy, so he cursed him to become a tiger, to learn cruelty. The woman who loved the young soldier has a witch for a grandmother, though she has not seen her since she was a child. She puts the tiger on a leash and leads him snarling out of the Prince’s city, to the rocky hills where her grandmother once lived, not even sure whether the mad old woman is still alive. She hopes very much that the cure will be to kill the Prince.

Continue reading Story from half-asleep on the shinkansen

Sometimes I have nightmares I don’t realize are nightmares until I wake up.

Sometimes I have nightmares I don’t realize are nightmares until I wake up. published on

My dreams don’t stay in bed all day; they follow me around.

I accidentally got mad at Mr. K today. I’m really sorry, Mr. K. I’ll bring in a special coloring sheet or something for you next week.

Three Things Post

Three Things Post published on

1) Olfactory Rescue Service – A frequently-updated blog of really detailed incense reviews. No, these guys are crazy. BPAL people may want to look at it? (Because BPAL international shipping is expensive, I’m trying to transfer some of my perfume nerdery over to incense, of which Japan has a lot.)

2) Amazon is preventing gay and lesbian books from showing up in searches, something that, given Amazon’s monopoly status, is obviously going to have an impact on their ability to get sold. You can write cuss words to them via their web form, or phone cuss words to them at these numbers provided by rydra_wong.

3) Last night I had a dream involving a very stoic eight-or-nine-year-old boy who was captain of a naval ship, in a very small island country engaged some vaguely Napoleonic-looking war involving dragons. (Though I don’t think that the dream was Temeraire fanfic – I think it’s based on hanging around in Second Life pirate-themed areas with Jenan yesterday, plus Warcraft withdrawal.) When he was on his ship or on the docks, everyone treated him with proper respect, as if it was perfectly normal that a little boy be the ship’s captain. The other captains and the admiral of the fleet often came to consult him, because his knowledge of the weather was unparalleled – he could predict storms and calms days and sometimes weeks in advance.

But the further the captain got from his ship, the more people began to feel that it might be a little strange that a child should be in the navy.

One day he and a few of his crew were betrayed to the enemy. When the captain was carried onto an enemy ship, the spell seemed to break entirely. Suddenly everyone, even those of his own crew who had been taken with him, saw him only as a little boy. As always, his face was quite calm – but a deep sadness fell over him. When left alone on the deck of the enemy ship for a few moments – because he was only a little boy, so what could he do? – he took a small wooden flute out of the pocket of his red greatcoat and began to play. Though it was a summer day and only a little past noon, and the sun was bright and the wind was strong, a little mist began to rise up off the water.

And then I woke up.

Complicated Dreams

Complicated Dreams published on

A girl called the Monkey has been chosen to lead the Host of Heaven, who are made of metal and have no eyes. Much of the world below them is in ruins from the Host’s attempts to conquer the people there. Once they have the Monkey, they will begin the final assault.

So the Monkey has run from them for a long time, having adventures and rescuing people and making new friends, elves and ghosts and animals and humans. She is only thirteen or fourteen, but is probably the greatest martial artist in the world.

Most of her friends think that is why the angels want her. But the quiet and cool-tempered Princess, who is helping to coordinate resistance against the Host, and whom the Monkey has rescued from them over and over and over, thinks there is another reason. Something the Monkey already knows, but does not want to admit to herself. The Monkey keeps her distance from the Princess, telling herself it is to protect her.

Continue reading Complicated Dreams


Ugh. published on

Feeling that I was not already stressed-out enough, my subconscious last night provided me with an extremely vivid dream in which my job search was complicated by a natural disaster that made fossil fuel prices rise disastrously. The dream had very specific and plausible ideas about what effects this would have. This morning I kept finding myself on Google trying to research what the chemical makeup of the Aichi area’s soil was like, and what vegetables would grow best in it. You know, so I know what to plant if the grocery stores run out of food.

I finally turned off the computer and played Pokemon for a few hours, which had the desired zombifying effect.


Sleep. published on

Last night I dreamed I went through what I’ve read of Detective Loki, found that there were no scenes of Narugami without his shirt on, and came to the realization he had to be a cross-dressing girl. Because that’s the only possibility? This is what manga does to you.

And now I’m totally convinced that that would be awesome. It is not, however, going to happen. (Now that I’m thinking about it awake, I think he is shirtless for a second in the wedding story.)

My brain is a deeply trivial place.

My brain is a deeply trivial place. published on

In the middle of my dream about the Demon Kadon and her fight against the Evil Pope, as well as her interpersonal conflicts with fellow protagonists Princess Leddain and Templar Hagen, there was an interlude in which I went into the grocery store to get hot chocolate mix. Because I was nearly out. Reaching the appropriate aisle, I upon further consideration of the matter decided to buy straight cocoa powder instead, as I already had a large thing of sugar with which I wasn’t doing anything else, and because the cocoa would additionally be useful for making pudding.

This resolved, I went to check out, and the dream went back to Kadon and the pope. Except that now Zuko and Azula were there, as well as one of the evil women from Tactics (the one who spilled tea on her leg) and some monsters from Barbara Hambly’s Windrose Chronicles.

I suddenly remembered all this when I went to make hot chocolate just now, and realized that, in matters relating to groceries, the dream was exactly right on all counts. I will follow its advice after class tomorrow.

The Dream City

The Dream City published on

Every once in a while I’ll have a dream of a type I think of as an Ur-Dream. These are dreams that have a moderately coherent story, are aware that they’re dreams, comment on something I’ve been thinking about or reading, seep into/out of whatever I’ve been writing recently, and about which my lighter-weight dreams will henceforth write lots of fanfiction. The Two-and-a-Half Apocalypses Dream was one of these – it contains a lot of complaints about stuff I was working on at the time, and some of the characters and settings have shown up in another dreams since.

(They have titles. Some of them have credits and dedications. The Lightning Key Dream was scored by Bjorn Lynne, with character design by Himekawa Akira and environmental design by Abe Yoshitoshi and CLAMP. The Memory Witch Dream was dedicated to Jim Henson and Tanith Lee, and included appearances by Getting Lost In The Back Yard, Accidentally Sleeping Through Most Of Autumn, and The Confused Sick Person Whose Jacket Is Getting Thin At The Elbows, regular presences in my dreams since grade school.)

This is one from high school. I’m pretty sure I had it around the time I first read Kaori Yuki, because the Count Cain read-through made me think of it and dig my write-up out of the hard drive.

A certain wizard has many towers, can make another by blinking, and each comes out slightly different from the other, but he cannot make a perfect one. Once he has thrown away into a sun enough to fill a small city, he stops making them, because they come from nowhere and he feels the universe will collapse if too much matter unaccounted for comes into it. He keeps seven, in a t-shape, and lives in the center one, which has a library on the bottom floor out of which he has moved all the books, then sat down in and grown depressed.

The wizard and Bianca love unwisely; or rather, those who love Bianca believe that she is unwise to love him, young and powerful as she is, because he is a doddering old fool who can only make towers. Later, Bianca becomes older and sadder, and he can no longer keep her attention.

Continue reading The Dream City

Apparently I was wrong.

Apparently I was wrong. published on

I started playing Apollo Justice last night. It looks like the torch singer dream did mean something. It just wasn’t apparent until I started the game. I don’t know what it means yet, but surely this will become clear as I progress.

(Seriously, I must have read some spoilers at some point and then got them lost in my brain, because the dream knew way too much about the plot.)

Kaiware suck.

Kaiware suck. published on

Last night, apparently in reaction to yesterday’s terrible dietary crime, I dreamed about eating sprouts. I had bought several varieties from the store, and I removed the roots and ate them. That was the whole dream. It was pretty vivid. I could taste and smell the sprouts and everything.

Figuring that my brain was probably trying to tell me something*, I bought some sprouts when I went out to buy curry stuff today. Unfortunately, I accidentally got daikon sprouts. Which taste like, you know, daikon. I hate daikon. I’ve covered them with kimchi and am determined to work my way through them today. My subconscious went to a lot of trouble on this one.

* Probably an unwarranted assumption. I had another dream earlier in the night where Apollo Justice was a 20’s torch singer. I don’t think that means anything.


Unnnngh. published on

I actually made it through my shift at work last night (even though I shouldn’t really have gone at all, because I definitely had a fever), but it’s a very good thing I don’t have one tonight. I went to bed early last night, and, seeing as I don’t have class Thursdays anyway, set my alarm for four PM. It took probably two or three minutes before I managed to wake up enough to get over there and turn it off.

With the speed and alacrity of a reptile on an ice cube, I settled myself back on the bed and slowly surveyed my room. After some minutes of careful consideration, I came to the regretful conclusion that white rice and a single brownie was probably not an acceptable diet for an invalid. Having showered (an occupation not without its perils – slipperiness, sparkly dots in front of my eyes, my own hair, water) I called Murgatroyd and asked her if she could drive me down to the store, fearing my own inadvertent annihilation if I should walk. Despite the obviously grave danger to her own health, she agreed. I bought frozen pasta dishes, and pills.

I had a dream about orangutan villains last night. They were not so bad – the real trouble began when they were exposed to The Terrible Secret Of Space, and became pirate zombie orangutans in dashing greatcoats. They would not let me pass, and I was forced to draw my sword upon them and leap from the ship (it was in water, rather than in space, by this time) and swim for shore, which was evidently the expansive Ohio shore. I decided I ought to get back to the dorm as my first order of business, and from there plan my defense. For as we all know, zombie pirate orangutans have long memories, and a thirst for vengeance matched only by their thirst for brains, rum, and bananas.

Occasionally, since I woke up, I have found myself thinking, “Okay, now that I am back in the dorm, I should really be working on a plan for dealing with those orangutans…”

Slee-eeep… with the windowwww… opennnn!

Slee-eeep… with the windowwww… opennnn! published on

Inappropriate use of the song-lyrics-as-a-post-title technique!

While I was waking up this morning, I had two-and-a-half dreams about the apocalypse.

Dream 1

I am an Action Movie Protagonist Guy, but the skinny kind, that’s probably like a scientist or something. I’m an atheist, and I have an exasperated blond girlfriend who is some sort of a Christian. Sitting at the computer one afternoon, I realize that it has suddenly gone dark as night outside the blinds. Thinking suddenly of the Biblical signs of the apocalypse (note: some signs may have been made up for purposes of this dream), I spring into action and stay right there in the chair and check Google news, hoping against hope that I am wrong.

I am not wrong – the great meteor, Leviathan, has arrived to block out the sun, whose light will touch this earth no more. Leviathan’s dark surface glows faintly red in places, smoldering from within with a volcanic heat that, as a scientist, I know is improbable for an object of Leviathan’s relatively low mass, though possibly forgivable given its young geologic age. (Less than six thousand years, right? Ba-dum-ching.) The glow seems to trace out some sort of symbols, or perhaps a face, but I cannot quite make out the pattern. Perhaps it will become clearer as more of Leviathan falls to earth over the following months, as foretold by prophecy.

(characteristics of Leviathan based on similar meteors from Earthbound, Final Fantasy VII, Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask)

But wait – if the meteor is already here, then, as foretold by prophesy (that I made up), the rapture must already have happened! Where is my blond Christian girlfriend?

But she is standing behind me, weeping silently, her face contorted with shame and grief – she did not really believe, and though others were taken, she has been left behind. I lead her away from this place as fire rains down, swearing to the apocalypse that this is not over.

Because I am an action movie protagonist, and I talk back to non-sentient things like the apocalypse and volcanoes and diabetic ketoacidosis as if they have a personally antagonistic relationship with me.

(real life intrudes – someone was being loud outside, and I woke up a little, but fell back asleep pretty fast)

Dream 1.5

Same apocalypse, different viewpoint. Now I am myself, at my parents’ house. We go out to buy groceries in preparation for whatever comes next. None of my family is gone, but the store is nearly empty. I pick out shallots and ginger root and listen to a man lecturing the people in the store about how wrong we were. I wonder why he is still here, and who was on the radio this morning preaching? (Because we are in post-apocalyptic times, radios, cars, and guns work, but nothing else. This is a necessary part of any good apocalypse and must not be overlooked.) I begin to suspect a conspiracy.

(characteristics of possibly-contrived religious apocalypse based on many preachy fantasy and sci-fi novels; post-disaster ginger-buying scene taken from my Havegale writing project)

But it really doesn’t matter much – the damage is done (I am sure that the vanished are never returning, wherever they are), and anyway my mind is made up. I see someone else listening to the preaching man with a disgusted expression, and comment quietly that, even if there is a god who has done this, and even if it should prove its reality to me, I will not believe in it. Because I have only my own conscience to guide me, and because hell is unconscionable, and because what has happened to the world is unconscionable, I will not believe in a god that would make them. If there is a heaven, I rebel against it.

The other person nods seriously, because this schpiel is my actual real-life opinion on the matter, and figments of my imagination cannot help but be moved by it.

We drive home over landscape that is now light and chromatically undersaturated, because Leviathan has all fallen to earth and the sun now shines through dust. In the field beside the house there is now a strange place, black and red and glowing, where large fragments of Leviathan seem to have burrowed. Men in black clothes swarm around it.

There is a way in. Looking over my shoulder as I take a bag from the car, I think that tonight, I will go down. I will give whatever lives inside Leviathan a piece of my mind.

(characteristics of evil-hole-in-the-ground based on Tailchaser’s Song, Richard Monaco’s Parsival, the mining stuff from the Darkover books)

(real life – I woke up because my neck hurt really bad, and realized I’d fallen asleep on the floor again. It was about eight AM, which was obviously too early, so I got into bed.)

Dream 2

New apocalypse.

My house is in the middle of a magical forest, where people often get lost two feet from their door, and where strange things with pearly eyes live under tobacco leaves. But the forest is small, and things from the outside, like radios and rust, have recently begun to encroach upon it.

People here never go outside at night, and think it shameful when they find themselves awake after dark – they hide in their rooms then.

But one night, I walk outside and look up. The stars are hard to see because of the bright lights of the outside world, which is really very close. Disappointed, I go back inside and close the door.

The next day, I have gone out for a second and gotten lost in the magic forest, but don’t really care. I take a nap under a leaf. Sometime later, Mom wakes me – there are men in black clothes here, looking at pieces of rusted metal and fiberglass debris that have fallen around me while I slept. The debris looks like pieces of someone’s Winnebago. The men cannot see me, and do not seem to see Mom clearly. She tells me that the world is ending, so I should come home.

The sky is orange, and then black.

Someone tells me what has happened. We have been, until now, in the Age of the Sun God – but he could only maintain his power while the people shunned the night. Last night, too many people looked at the sky, and now the era has turned, and it is the Age of the Moon Goddess. The sun will shine no more. There is nothing, this person tells me with finality, to be done about it.

I am secretly a little pleased.

But because I know my duty as the protagonist – and also because I realize, reluctantly, that a Moon Goddess who throws Winnebago parts in my magical forest probably cannot be relied upon to put on a proper Age Of The World – I begin to consider where I might find a cleric, a wizard, and a swordsman to round out my party. I cannot find any socks, but I put on my shoes and tell Mom that I am leaving to save the world. She says exasperatedly, “All right, dear.”

(my behavior towards the end based on Renge from Ouran High School Host Club, The Paper Bag Princess, Cimorene from Dealing With Dragons; Mom’s bad parenting taken from my Magus Anmere: Cyborg Werewolf project)

I bet there were chocobos

I bet there were chocobos published on

In my dreams last night, Steve Irwin wasn’t really dead, but was just on a road trip, with a big suitcase full of pot – he had faked his own death so that he could do this. I ran into him on a spiral stairway in a casino I was in somehow, and I was glad that he was still alive, but kind of sad, too, because he looked like it wasn’t one of the fun road trips, and because he wasn’t concealing his pot very well and wasn’t going to be able to keep from being arrested much longer. I watched him get on a train going to North Dakota.

I think this is the first time I’ve ever had a Not-Really-Dead dream about someone I didn’t know. I had no idea I had such strong feelings about the Crocodile Hunter.

(Last year I dreamed that Anne McCaffrey wrote a new Pern book that was good, but that’s not the same thing.)


Crap. published on

I dreamed someone on LiveJournal was talking about Golden Sun‘s terrible dialog and plot and said, “But if you can make it to just past the halfway point in The Lost Age, everything changes completely. I can’t tell you what happens – no, not even under a cut, because it is just that mind-blowing – but I will say that the dialog is suddenly awesome and hilarious.” And I ran to find my game.

And I awoke and found me here,

On the cold hill’s side.

Death Note is on Boing Boing I guess

Death Note is on Boing Boing I guess published on

I look forward to seeing Doctorow’s disappointment. He’s only read one volume, and he says “the pacing is very tight.” Hee.

Last night I dreamed that there was a beetle that sat quietly on a table while too men haggled over a strange, tiny, brass lamp – each one had a piece of the lamp, and they were going to put the two together and then sell it for a lot of money, because it was a very important, dangerous lamp. They put them together, and the beetle suddenly flew into the lamp, and something sharp touched their hands and they died.

Then it was a year later, and they found themselves alive again, and the world full of tunnels and people in masks, and somehow they remembered how this had happened, even though they had been dead. And there were the two pieces of the lamp again, and the beetle, and even though they remembered what had happened they found themselves starting over right where they had been, and they were negotiating for the lamp pieces again, staring at the beetle sitting quietly…

A few days ago I was half-asleep and banged my head on the bed frame – something I do constantly, so it’s not a big deal – and somehow it’s still really sore. I’d forgotten it had happened until I touched the side of my face last night and felt a sort of stabbing pain there. I worried I had, you know, head cancer for a couple minutes, and tried to figure out how you’d google “cancers that happen in your head but are not necessarily brain cancer,” but then remembered bumping my head. It makes me very nervous, though it is better today than it was last night.