It's not just telly that's gone downhill
It appears I did some dreaming last night.
Dream 1: Sit in a very large pub; get slightly bored.
Dream 2: Murder someone; on the way home, realise it was probably all a bit of a misunderstanding; feel slightly embarrassed.
Dream 3. Suspect that I may have some paper cuts; look at finger; see lots of paper cuts; mutter something along the lines of "Cuh! Those'll annoy me later..."
Sometimes I worry about my unconscious... No sense of drama. It barely even manages nightmares.
Case in point: it once dreamt about being chased by zombies - three very, very slow zombies. Basically the dream consisted of me sitting around having a nice read, but every so often having to go outside and sit somewhere else, before I could return to the more comfortable seat indoors, until the zombies eventually and inevitably shambled back into view again and I had to move again. Repeat ad nauseum.
At some point in this tedium I think it hit me that "Oh. This is going to make for an interrupted night's sleep...", but even that low level of dramatic tension was instantly dispersed: "Actually, never mind. If I just go far enough, and perhaps by bike, not only will I buy myself a good few hours kip, but after a few weeks of this nonsense I'll probably have lost weight."
And then back to the near-endless game of non-musical chairs.
Apparently my unconscious, at some point in my past, must have mistaken zombies for some form of book-averse personal trainer; which, if this confusion is also occuring in reverse, would at least explain my attitude to exercise...
But then again, it probably isn't; so it doesn't.
I don't know. Maybe I should just start watching more horror movies?
4 comments:
My dreams are almost always like this:
1. Someone else does something.
2. I realise they're making a mistake.
3. I decide not to tell them.
Although the other night I dreamt I made an elderly female librarian cry by forcing her to stop playing Morrissey tracks in the library and put on some Shakira.
An elderly female librarian? Are you sure that wasn't Morrissey?
Once you'd moved out of West Street was it much, much easier to tell whether you were awake or not?
Anyway, hello there :) How's T? And Norway? (ah, I see you have blogged again; but anyway).
CONVERSATIONS THAT NEVER HAPPEN:
MORRISSEY FAN: I love Morrissey, he's brilliant.
ME: I've never really got into him, or The Smiths.
MORRISSEY FAN: That's not a problem, I have no problem with you not liking Morrissey and I will not take it personally.
Hope Falmouth's good. I hear (thanks Heidi) that Co-op's turning into Sainsbury's, which reminds me, I never went to Lidl... (or is it Aldi?)...
I've never been to Lidl either...
I was going to say Falmouth is as Falmouth does, but then I remembered it doesn't really do a lot, so that would imply it was perhaps semi-non-existent, and I was perhaps semi-homeless, so it's probably best to just report that it still hasn't tumbled down into the sea yet and all's as good as can be expected.
In other news: I'm going to stand on a stage and read at people. Twice. But that won't be in Falmouth. I'm choosing to believe, for now, that this will go well...
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