Sara

I had a dream last night. Well several. But only one I can recall in bits and pieces.

The first part of it started in a house I don't know. I was there at night and watching a movie in the dark. I kept seeing shadows on the floor, moving. At first I thought it was some sort of light play from the television, but it wasn't. I finally turned on the lights and started to investigate. I found a frog, which I went to take outdoors. The sliding glass door had a snake in it, a very small one that was gray with some sort of orange diamond pattern. I only barely recognized the fact that the thing was a snake. It was too late because by the time I was positive my hands were by it to release the frog out the door and the snake had bit me on the finger. There was some commotion after that, but I knew that I was dreaming so it didn't matter about the snake bite.

The next part, which might have been another dream, I was over at my mother's house, which used to be my grandparent's house, and we were visiting. In the dream I was sad because I was thinking about the death of my friend, Danny. The time frame was obvious. The dream was set in the future, and it was either tomorrow or Friday because we were talking about the concert we were going to on Saturday. Out of nowhere my sister and my eldest niece showed up on motorcycles. They're being loud and noisy and have invited all these people. People I don't even know.

I want to leave. I tell my mother I want to leave and that I'll see her soon, but she sort of convinces me to stay with a story about how the young Native American men my niece has invited over have gotten in trouble at school because they dressed up in some ridiculous costumes at school. It's enough to at least make me sit down a little longer. At one point I went outside and spoke to my friend Patrick on the phone and we were talking about how he would come over to get his Nook from me so I wouldn't have to drive all the way back to work. But the phone went dead and I never got to finish that conversation.

Then my grandfather comes over. My grandfather is dead and has been dead for several years. He appears in my dreams very rarely and always seems to be appearing with the prime purpose of letting me know that something is all right. He comes over to--no one else is paying him any attention--and comments on a necklace I'm wearing. I really hadn't been aware of wearing on before. It's not a necklace I own. It's shaped oddly, a rectangle stacked on a square sort of shape but more refined. The image is of these women in blue uniforms and a heart and clouds in the sky. The whole thing has a very old fashioned golden yellow background. I immediately think it's an advertisement for a 60s airline. My grandfather explains to me that it's for some sort of medicine, but that he doesn't know why there's a 7 on it because he's not familiar with that brand. Then he starts reading the writing on it, which is so small there's no way anyone could read it. It's talking about computers and internet. It's basically talking about my job.

It makes sense only to me. It probably comforts only me. As I said my grandfather shows up rarely and only imparts a great sense of comfort to me. The necklace appeared when he did, and our interpretations of it come together to mean one thing to me. It's a heralding of a journey that heals. Danny was 27, and I have to interpret the 7 from the necklace to represent him even though it might be a stretch. The fact that the necklace was covered in computer and internet jargon, though, seals the deal for me that it was about Danny. That he's all right. If nothing else, my grandfather will take care of him.

I had a dream last that for some reason I was at an airport and just so happened to run into Neil Gaiman and his manager/agent/whatever. Like any good fangirl, I gushed. Not at Neil but from a safe distance away where I hoped that he wouldn't see. I was with friends although I'm hard pressed to say who was there thanks to my spotty dream memory. I don't know if Neil saw that gushing but the agent certainly did, which is when he decided to approach me. According to Mr. Agent, Neil didn't like staying in hotels and would much rather stay with a person. The agent then asked my group if any of us could put Neil up for the night. I, of course, said yes. So off to my house did Neil go only for some reason the house ended up being a mix of my mother's house, my apartment and the house in Salem my dad used to have before he moved to BFE. Interesting mix to say the least. And not only that but most of my family ended up being there, wandering around and pestering me about who the strange man was. I was mostly freaking out because Neil was sitting right next to the bookcase with the Ultimate Sandman books on it while playing cards with my maternal grandparents. I didn't want him to see the editions and think I was some sort og stalker, but I also wanted him to sign them.

It was strange and sort of fun.

From my Buddhist Wisdom Inspiration Cards:





When we waste time
it is like pulling the
flowers from a garland
and throwing them away.

When we use time wisely it is
like stringing fresh flowers to the
garland of our days.


I think I understand what you're trying to tell me, Buddha Box. I understand the general idea anyway. Putting things off by doing nothing helps no one. It does not make me feel better, and it certainly does not get anything accomplished. It is not right work or right thought. There are a lot of things in my life that feel like a waste of time. It's not just the days where I cannot manage to make myself do much. Even if I'm watching television while crocheting I'm doing something. I'm working on perfecting a skill that I not only want but that could help me in the future. It's the days where I drift from one room to another without accomplishing anything by the end of the day other than feeling sorry for myself that are really a waste. I'm not contributing to my happiness or to the betterment of the world at large. Not that I imagine that I contribute much to the betterment of the world most of the time. I'm not much of a joiner. I'm not involved in movements. It's not that I don't believe strongly in things because I do. I just can't seem to muster up the energy to get involved with organizations. I've always had a thing about organizations.

It's more than that, though. Wasting my off days is not nearly as detrimental as the fact that the days and weeks and years of my life feel wasted right now. For the most part. Yes, I have learned life lessons. Yes, I have made some friends who I love so dearly it makes my heart ache. And, yes, I have lost things that have crippled my emotionally.

There's something about my job that feels like such a waste. I never ever loved it. Not really. Not even in the beginning. It used to upset me so, the change, the getting used to everything, the fitting into the rhythm of it all, that I would come home distraught with headaches, crying, not wanting to go in the next day because I just wasn't sure I could do it. I didn't like the driving, and I hadn't learned my way around everything. I hadn't really made any friends, either, because I hadn't gotten comfortable enough to come out of my shell. Things changed. I got comfortable and let people get close to me. I became confident in the job. I still didn't love it, but it was so much better than it had been. I let myself start making plans about it. How I would get into the Special Projects team and then become a lead and then maybe become a supervisor or go to another department. I thought eventually someone might recognize the skills I had and put them to good use. I thought someone might appreciate the fact that I wanted changes and challenges and things to make my brain work.

Yet I feel passed over and discontent. I don't care about it. There's nothing to care about there anymore. Each and every day feels like a waste of my time and energy. They try to coerce me into wanting more with the promise of money without realizing that I am not the sort of person who is enticed by money. I know I need it. I budget what I have. It's not what I want, though.

I see the positions I meant to move toward and do not like what they have done to other people. I do not like what they have become.

Wasting time. I am wasting time there because it is safe, and I know what I'm doing.

I should be going back to school or finding a new job or starting my own business or traveling. I should be doing something worthwhile. I should be doing something that will make me something other than mundane and ordinary and useless. I have always hated feeling mundane.

I hear, Buddha Box. It may just be the time for changes. I don't know where to find the strength.

I had the sort of dream that speaks of ill portents whether or not it happens to occur on Valentine's Day. I am not very happy right now. I wish I didn't have to go to work. I wish I could curl up in bed and keep dreaming until I have one of the nice ones.

I had a decent weekend. Prior to the dream, it was pretty nice.

Now I just feel sad and lost and tired and aching. Stupid mind for giving me dreams like that.

I had a dream last night that I was hanging out with mizzmarvel. I'm not quite sure where we were geographically, but it was a lot of fun. We were at a mall of some sort with plans to go to a movie and dinner.

It was nice. It makes me think about how I'll have to make that come true sometime. Along with finding the time and money to go see a lot of other people that I miss dearly.

Love to you all.

I hate nightmares. Hate them. I used to get them all the time. I used to have such trouble sleeping when I was little. I needed a light on and music and still I'd jerk myself awake, keep myself awake as long as possible. I had recurring nightmares as a child. The same two or three. They weren't scary scary. Not like. Well, I'd watch horror movies. A lot. They weren't like that.

One was falling. For some reason I had been very high up. Very high. And I fell. And I was absolutely convinced in my waking mind that if I hit bottom, I would die. Not just in my dream but in real life. So the falling always woke me up.

The other one was at a zoo. I follow my parents around, we're looking at the animals, bears. I pause to look at something and my parents just keep walking. By the time I hurry after them, I can't find them. And the bears are everywhere. There are bears instead of people. I'm the only person left. And I'm convinced they're going to eat me. Needless to say, I never liked teddy bears as a child.

Those were the big ones. Those were the ones I got at least twice a week. Everything else was mostly just passing shit. A couple of nightmares I've had two of three times. I know because they frighten me so much, I remember them, and you're talking to someone who pretty much can't remember her dreams anymore.

Usually, the nightmares seem to be my body or my mind telling me something. I sleep pretty heavy so if my body needs something it conspires with my mind to wake me the fuck up. Need to go to the bathroom, nightmare. Need a drink of water, nightmare. Despite the fact that the nightmares set me so much on the fucking edge that I never want to get out of bed after one because who knows what the fuck is in the dark. Waiting.

But even as nightmares go, tonight's was weird. Black. Black. Utter blackness but not all the time. Light. Warm light like a cigarette lighter in the dark. But even for that, it was so dark that when the light was on, that was it, that was the only sense. It wasn't bright enough to see anything by. It was just bright enough to see. (Sight's a big thing. I'm almost blind. The only thing I can see on the eye chart without my glasses is the big fucking E.) And there's noise. But the light isn't bright enough to see what's making the noise. And there was light right by me and noise right by me and some kind of touching. And I didn't know what the fuck it was. So I screamed. In my dream. I can never scream for real. Never. I've tried. After waking up, scared out of my wits, I can never make a sound. Sometimes I can weep. But usually I just sit there, still, trying to see what's out there, not making a sound, jerking myself awake every few seconds because if I don't stay up long enough to end the dream, it's right back the next time I close my eyes.

It was suffocating. It was like drowning in darkness. God, what the fuck was the light? What was the sound? And why was it touching? And I knew, I fucking knew, that whatever it was needed to go away. Wasn't the right light. Wasn't the light I wanted.

Makes me wonder if I should start calling people to make sure everyone's okay.

Comic book characters keep edging their way into my dreams.

Which should probably bother me or indicate some kinda mental problem. But I really sort of enjoy it. Because it's better than dreaming about dead people, which happens to me far too often. Although I did have a dream about my grandfather the other night. (And here's where I talk about that dream because I'm all about stream of conscious right now. It was, like, I think he was trying to explain things to me. Which he doesn't need to. Not really. Because I already know. I know, Grandpa, I do. I promise. I'm not mad. I was never mad. I don't get mad at people who die. But in the dream, it's all so foggy I can't remember details just the feeling, which was that he couldn't do it. Without my grandmother, he just couldn't make himself stay. Not that he didn't love us, not that he didn't want to. He just couldn't because the hole was just too big. Yes, I know. I know. You don't have to tell me. I love you, too. I miss you. Of course, I miss you. And every military funereal I ever see will remind me of yours and of you, and I will likely always cry at them. But I love you. I know you love me. It's okay. It's alright.)

So that kinda oddly went where I did not expect it to go. Anyway, my dream last night was that Paige "Husk" Guthrie had this weird motorcycle (name of which was Excalibur) that Warren "Arch/Angel" Worthington III had given her. Which, hello, stupid! You do not give Paige a motorcycle. You keep Paige as far away from a motorcycle as humanly possible. This is the last girl you want to have a motorcycle.

And now I prove my point.

Paige was all over the road. All over. Reckless endangerment with a motor vehicle personified. Of course, the fact that she was, like, escaping villains doesn't matter because, still. Paige does not equal good motorcycle driver. Ever.

So she gets back to the mansion with this completely thrashed motorcycle, and the cops are looking for her because of, well, like side swiping multiple cars at high speeds and the like. And X is all mad at her for very obvious reasons because cops and a school full of mutants do not mix well.

Anyway, um, I don't remember what happened after that, but I was very, very mad at Warren for giving her the bike in the first place because duh. Jono, of course, would never have given her a motorcycle because he knows better. Jono pwns Warren any day.

Well, except for the fact that he's all post-HoM now, but we don't talk about that.

I had a dream last night in which I was Paige (aka Husk). It wasn't canon Paige or AoA Paige, though. It was my Paige. The darling who lives in my head and surprises me by being so real and so fucking easy to write. The one who tries so hard and very rarely gets anywhere with it but doesn't let that pain show because it would make her weak and something less than her. I'm afraid she's gonna break into pieces on day, this girl of mine. But, anyway, that has nothing to do with the dream.

In the dream, Paige-girl had left the mansion, which was actually a large shopping mall (don't ask), for a few months. I don't know why. She had to go, and so she left. And upon her return, she went looking for Jono (which was not old player-Jono or Kurtum's NPC-Jono but something between the two of those) because even in my head Paige-girl keeps looking for Jono. I have a feeling that unlike canon Paige my Paige is not going to toss him off and jump on the next blond boy or winged millionaire she sees. My Paige thinks trying to prove herself by attaching herself to a long line of boys is distasteful and will probably only make her look worse in the eyes of her brothers.

I'm rambling again. But Paige wants to talk. Paige wants me to make her journal so she can ramble. And the dream upset her, too. God, I feel like I should be locked up in an aslyum sometimes with my muses and paper and nothing to distract me. I don't know whether I'd write the next best thing or kill myself. It's sad that I'm never sure if they're a help or a hindrance.

The dream. So Paige wanders back into the mansion/mall thing and goes looking for Jono. She finds him. Sitting with another girl. And he has his face. And his chest. She's so happy, near to crying happy, and Paige is occasionally content but rarely happy. And he won't talk to her or look at her or acknowledge her. Just sits there and holds the other girl's hand. So Paige darling runs off, crying in anger and pain now. And Jono just sits there.

I don't know. Odd. I feel weird dreaming as my players.