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It looks a lot like engine oil and tastes like being poor and small
Most of my anxiety dreams are about school or performance. I was not expecting to dream last night that I was suddenly responsible for the arraignment of a serial killer: I was handed a folder of papers and pointed in the direction of the courtroom, which looked a lot more like a conference room. Unusually for this kind of dream, I explained promptly to the judge that I was here as a favor for an overworked lawyer (fictional, a vague acquaintance) and my knowledge of law was nonexistent to out of date by two thousand years; I'd been told it was just a formality, but if my participation was going to invalidate the case against the man, I wanted to bow out now. After which things devolved into a film noir cross with Hannibal, because I was supposed to have tried to fake my way through the prosecution and left things wide open for the defense, and then I spent much of the dream trying not to be killed. I didn't think much of it until I woke, but there were unicorns in this world; they had nothing to do with sexuality and a lot to do with not wanting to attract their attention, because they were arbiters of perfect justice and that's terrifying. Roaming, half-mythical, not part of the judicial system. In a story, I should have been able to summon one and confront the killer with it, but the only appearance I remember is a quick glimpse from the roof of a nearby warehouse: it was standing like a heraldic statue, possibly observing, possibly absorbed in some other thought; it was not horselike and not human and I couldn't guess what it was thinking. I remember its horn was a kind of ropy amber color. I woke up before the endgame. Things were getting bloody.
The marathon on Saturday was absolutely lovely and I should write about the movies, especially Tremors (1990), which I'd known nothing about and hadn't realized would be wonderful. Sunday sucked jet stream. We watched the latest episode of The Great British Bake Off, but that was after midnight and doesn't really count. I'm not sure about today, but tomorrow is the PMRP's Fall Fundraiser, when a portion of the proceeds from all purchases at Eat at Jumbo's will go toward funding Night of the Living Dead this month at Responsible Grace and The Big Broadcast of 1962: A Byfar Christmas Carol at the Regent in December. I have some stake in the latter, therefore plan to eat a calzone for radio. First I need to figure out what, beyond work, I am doing with this afternoon.
The marathon on Saturday was absolutely lovely and I should write about the movies, especially Tremors (1990), which I'd known nothing about and hadn't realized would be wonderful. Sunday sucked jet stream. We watched the latest episode of The Great British Bake Off, but that was after midnight and doesn't really count. I'm not sure about today, but tomorrow is the PMRP's Fall Fundraiser, when a portion of the proceeds from all purchases at Eat at Jumbo's will go toward funding Night of the Living Dead this month at Responsible Grace and The Big Broadcast of 1962: A Byfar Christmas Carol at the Regent in December. I have some stake in the latter, therefore plan to eat a calzone for radio. First I need to figure out what, beyond work, I am doing with this afternoon.
unicorns
Whoa.
Yeah, terrifying. Would you dare to summon them to deal justly with the serial killer if they would also deal justly with you yourself? *gulp*
They sound beautiful, though
Re: unicorns
It seems to have been a night for anxiety dreams. I dreamed I was back in college, with sovay and someone else as roommates, and my bookcase fell down on my bed and I despaired of ever getting the books back up. Also my teddy bear appeared to have been decapitated (I think this was independently of the bookcase falling down). For once, however, I was not worrying about any exams.
The dream sovay had edited a translation (by someone else) of a medieval poem, apparently solely to make fun of how bad the translation was. (On waking reflection this would not be at all a nice thing to do. In the dream it was merely funny.) It was a very peculiar poem that ended in some sort of orgy. Said orgy may have been an artifact of mistranslation. The poem did not include any unicorns as far as I can remember, but I only skimmed it. It had been published in a slender paperback with the cover photo being an odd selfie of dream-sovay's torso (clothed, don't worry) reflected in a window, which I thought very unsuited to the book.
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That is an excellent summation of college anxiety dreams.
It had been published in a slender paperback with the cover photo being an odd selfie of dream-sovay's torso (clothed, don't worry) reflected in a window, which I thought very unsuited to the book.
Whoa.
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I think I also had a framing dream in which I was about to tell you about dreaming about the book I described and then realized it was real.
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Well, that would be the question! You either have to be very sure of yourself or not care at all about the consequences. And they'd know if you were doing it for the ego-boost.
They sound beautiful, though.
I think they were.