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I had trouble getting to sleep last night. It was freezing cold in my apartment (probably less than freezing if I want to be literal), and the only way I could get warm was with sweats, socks, and three blankets, curled and huddled up to conserve body heat. Even when I did, I tossed a lot before I fell asleep.
Here's the evening's entertainment I had:
I'm in the Toronto Reference Library and with a group of younger girls. We need to do a class project; write a novel of some sort. All we have is a few outline notes and sketches. Surprisingly, I've done the sketches (a futuristic view of the library all fitted out with electronics, a tiger that's remarkably realistic). They're pretty good considering my drawing ability (even in the dream). We bat around some ideas and then I hit on it: a story set in the same library, in a future where nobody actually reads the books that are still on the shelves for show but accesses online resources instead. The antagonist is looking for a book that's not in the system, a rare and special book, and the protagonist needs to find it before he does. We start drawing up an outline, and I'm so excited.
I'm missing a lot of detail from that one.
Cut to living in some sort of hotel room dorm while I work on a show. My parents are away, and so I'm supposed to check up on my sister every so often. In a moment of maybe not-so-good judgement I invite her along with the cast to go drinking: I flirt up a storm, phone numbers are exchanged (not my permanent one, so I don't care), and people have a good time but she looks a little sickish. I take her back to my dorm downtown because it's closer than my parents' house and we bake and watch TV. There are two double beds in the room and the neat floral duvets are made with regulation corners. I don't know why that would be. I don't make beds that nicely.
Either the morning of the same dream or a new one, and I'm in my parents' house coming down the stairs at sunrise because I need to feed the dog. There's a doggy form on the couch and I'm about to scold but it's not Patches; the big fluffy stuffed dog I've had since I was 2 or so has started to come to life. It wriggles around and wags its tail and wants to be scratched on the stomach; I do, and the body is still stiff and cold like a stuffed animal. I go into the kitchen and find Patches whimpering at her empty food bowl, so I fill it up for her and add a treat. The stuffed dog steals some of the food, but Patches either doesn't mind or can't understand what's going on -- the stuffed dog still feels and smells like an inanimate object. I'm a little happy about this. It would be nice to have another dog around the house.
There's a ringing and I go into the living room; it's the alarm on my mother's cellphone, left on for some reason while my parents are away. I turn it off and go back to see what the dogs are doing.
And then fast forward, or a new dream, and my extended family is at the house. My uncle is watching the Leafs game and shouting. I find his diary and read about how he became disillusioned with playing hockey himself (which may well be true; he used to play hockey). I sit outside on the porch in summery weather talking to my father, who tells me how he looked up and down for any secret documents or damning things in all the papers in the basement, but if I do find something to keep it in the family, okay? He's not angry, just stating it. We keep having to stop talking about secrets: my grandmothers keep coming outside and nagging us to have a drink of something, because it's hot outside.
We go inside, finally, and I'm working on a composition I have to finish for a music course I'm taking (remarkably similar to OAC Music). It's hard: melody and counterpoint, and when handed in you have to perform it with a partner in front of the class. I know I've busted my ass on this, and I go to the class pretty confident. However I find out it's the same time as my Tuesday Women in Eastern Religion class, and because I didn't know that I've missed a whole bunch of stuff and probably should have dropped one or the other.
Cut to a different place, nighttime, on a rain-slicked and darkened city street. I'm walking with someone who's supposed to protect me, even though I'm not sure why; people have been chasing me. I'm in some kind of trouble nobody will explain.
All of a sudden he pulls my arm and tells me to run. We go forwards into the darkness, and then abrupt left turn and he's pulled me into a McDonald's, because it's bright and full of witnesses. We sit down at a table. He orders us some fries so we have an excuse to be there. I'm scared, but I'm angry too; I literally couldn't see any threat, but that's exactly why he's taking care of me. Our stalkers can make themselves invisible to my eyes.
A flicker out of the corner of my eye, and a thin, brown-haired man literally appears out of thin air. I'm frightened at first, but he sits down with us and tells us he wants to help. He speaks mostly in riddles, but implies that I'm an avatar of the goddess Kali and that's why everyone's after us. He keeps looking at me expectantly, but I'm not sure what he represents.
I look down at a piece of paper he's doodling on while flickering in and out of existence. There's a word on it: delado. So I translate and say "Maze" to him, and he beams at me because I've named him correctly: he's the embodiment of the concept of obfuscation and riddles. He looks so proud I feel like I can almost cope with this. I start to almost believe that I have something powerful inside of me.
And then I wake up, and it's early afternoon, and snowing. And I think I'd better write some of these down, because they bear thinking about later on.
Good afternoon, everyone.
Here's the evening's entertainment I had:
I'm in the Toronto Reference Library and with a group of younger girls. We need to do a class project; write a novel of some sort. All we have is a few outline notes and sketches. Surprisingly, I've done the sketches (a futuristic view of the library all fitted out with electronics, a tiger that's remarkably realistic). They're pretty good considering my drawing ability (even in the dream). We bat around some ideas and then I hit on it: a story set in the same library, in a future where nobody actually reads the books that are still on the shelves for show but accesses online resources instead. The antagonist is looking for a book that's not in the system, a rare and special book, and the protagonist needs to find it before he does. We start drawing up an outline, and I'm so excited.
I'm missing a lot of detail from that one.
Cut to living in some sort of hotel room dorm while I work on a show. My parents are away, and so I'm supposed to check up on my sister every so often. In a moment of maybe not-so-good judgement I invite her along with the cast to go drinking: I flirt up a storm, phone numbers are exchanged (not my permanent one, so I don't care), and people have a good time but she looks a little sickish. I take her back to my dorm downtown because it's closer than my parents' house and we bake and watch TV. There are two double beds in the room and the neat floral duvets are made with regulation corners. I don't know why that would be. I don't make beds that nicely.
Either the morning of the same dream or a new one, and I'm in my parents' house coming down the stairs at sunrise because I need to feed the dog. There's a doggy form on the couch and I'm about to scold but it's not Patches; the big fluffy stuffed dog I've had since I was 2 or so has started to come to life. It wriggles around and wags its tail and wants to be scratched on the stomach; I do, and the body is still stiff and cold like a stuffed animal. I go into the kitchen and find Patches whimpering at her empty food bowl, so I fill it up for her and add a treat. The stuffed dog steals some of the food, but Patches either doesn't mind or can't understand what's going on -- the stuffed dog still feels and smells like an inanimate object. I'm a little happy about this. It would be nice to have another dog around the house.
There's a ringing and I go into the living room; it's the alarm on my mother's cellphone, left on for some reason while my parents are away. I turn it off and go back to see what the dogs are doing.
And then fast forward, or a new dream, and my extended family is at the house. My uncle is watching the Leafs game and shouting. I find his diary and read about how he became disillusioned with playing hockey himself (which may well be true; he used to play hockey). I sit outside on the porch in summery weather talking to my father, who tells me how he looked up and down for any secret documents or damning things in all the papers in the basement, but if I do find something to keep it in the family, okay? He's not angry, just stating it. We keep having to stop talking about secrets: my grandmothers keep coming outside and nagging us to have a drink of something, because it's hot outside.
We go inside, finally, and I'm working on a composition I have to finish for a music course I'm taking (remarkably similar to OAC Music). It's hard: melody and counterpoint, and when handed in you have to perform it with a partner in front of the class. I know I've busted my ass on this, and I go to the class pretty confident. However I find out it's the same time as my Tuesday Women in Eastern Religion class, and because I didn't know that I've missed a whole bunch of stuff and probably should have dropped one or the other.
Cut to a different place, nighttime, on a rain-slicked and darkened city street. I'm walking with someone who's supposed to protect me, even though I'm not sure why; people have been chasing me. I'm in some kind of trouble nobody will explain.
All of a sudden he pulls my arm and tells me to run. We go forwards into the darkness, and then abrupt left turn and he's pulled me into a McDonald's, because it's bright and full of witnesses. We sit down at a table. He orders us some fries so we have an excuse to be there. I'm scared, but I'm angry too; I literally couldn't see any threat, but that's exactly why he's taking care of me. Our stalkers can make themselves invisible to my eyes.
A flicker out of the corner of my eye, and a thin, brown-haired man literally appears out of thin air. I'm frightened at first, but he sits down with us and tells us he wants to help. He speaks mostly in riddles, but implies that I'm an avatar of the goddess Kali and that's why everyone's after us. He keeps looking at me expectantly, but I'm not sure what he represents.
I look down at a piece of paper he's doodling on while flickering in and out of existence. There's a word on it: delado. So I translate and say "Maze" to him, and he beams at me because I've named him correctly: he's the embodiment of the concept of obfuscation and riddles. He looks so proud I feel like I can almost cope with this. I start to almost believe that I have something powerful inside of me.
And then I wake up, and it's early afternoon, and snowing. And I think I'd better write some of these down, because they bear thinking about later on.
Good afternoon, everyone.
