Ordinary Day

So this morning I woke up out of a very disjointed sort of dream, but a vivid enough one that it stood out for me. Here are the bits of it that I remember:

1. I was starting a new job at an office somewhere in Seattle.
2. Simon Beaudry of Le Vent du Nord was there, only working there as a day job. Note that at no point during this dream did I ever actually interact with Simon, in English or in French. He was just there as a coworker. Which is pretty friggin’ amusing given that a) he’s a musician, b) he’s Quebecois so even if he had a computer-based day job I’m pretty damn sure he’d be doing it in Montreal, and c) usually if my favorite musicians show up in my dreams it’s to play music, and Simon didn’t even have his bouzouki, so what the hell, me?
3. The office had an open floor plan like most modern offices do. So I had a desk as part of a little rectangular-ish area of desks, all of whom were getting set up with new incoming workers. However, they kept rearranging who was going to sit where, and I mean, quoi? Pick a place where you want me to sit and let me just sit there, mmkay?
4. Despite the office in question having a modern floor plan, once they finally settled on what was going to be my actual final desk, they loaded it up with something like six different machines. (Note: the most machines I’ve ever had on or under my desk in an office environment was four, at Big Fish.)
5. Also, the machines were all ancient. I mean, ancient enough to have floppy drives. What the hell I was supposed to be testing on those, I have not the slightest idea.
6. Also, absolutely nobody would actually tell me what I was supposed to be doing to provision those machines and get them into a testable state.
7. Somebody finally came over to do machine setup, at which point I realized I could not actually see what he was doing, on the teeny-tiny Commodore-sized green screen monitor, because my glasses were gone. Not on my face where they belonged, not on my head, nowhere in immediate sight. I distinctly remember thinking I’d better ask everybody in the immediate area to stop what they were doing lest they step on my glasses…
8. … but right about then I also remember thinking it was nearly 5:30pm and what the hell was I still doing there in the office when I had to get home?
9. So I left, only to discover that the office was in a completely different part of Seattle than I was used to, and I had no immediate idea how to get to the busses I knew to get home.
10. The only thing that really keeps me from calling this a pandemic anxiety dream was that at no point did it occur to me to worry about nobody in the immediate vicinity, not even Simon, wearing masks. Or me, for that matter.

One of those dreams that, in general, falls into the bucket of “aaaaaah everything is going wrong and I can’t fix any of it WHAT IS GOING ON”. I don’t have to stretch very far to guess this is maybe my version of a pandemic anxiety dream, though if it is I still have some questions about what my subconscious is apparently trying to vent.

1. Because I mean honestly, me, you hate open floor plans, and right now you’re working from home in your very own home office setup that even has a window view, so what’s this all about then? (Best guess, maybe I just miss interacting directly with people in an office? Slack and Webex calls aren’t the same at all.)
2. Also, I sure as hell don’t miss the commute.
3. Okay I can kinda see the floppy drives thing being an example of “stupid decisions enforced on me by people further up the food chain at work” anxiety. Though i can safely say that at no point has any employer I’ve had in the last 15+ years made me have to deal with actual floppy disks to get anything done on my systems.
4. Apparently I miss Le Vent du Nord concerts hard enough that my subconscious is resorting to sticking occasional members of the band into the background of whatever the hell I’m dreaming about, regardless of whether it has anything at all to do with concerts or music? Or maybe it’s more like “oh shit, Anna’s anxious, here, have a pretty bouzouki player, you like those, don’t you?” In which case, okay, subconscious, that was rather nice of you.
5. I have had “I have no idea what bus route I’m supposed to be taking” dreams before, so having this show up as a side plot in the overall dream wasn’t terribly surprising!

I woke up after the part where it got to the busses. Hopefully whatever I dream about tonight will be less fraught.

(Although, more pretty bouzouki players would be appreciated. Subconscious, get on that, kthxbye.)

Crossposted from annathepiper.org. Original post: http://www.annathepiper.org/2021/02/17/my-version-of-pandemic-anxiety-dreams-maybe/

My alarm clock has a long and glorious history of jolting me out of dreams before they get to the really good part. This morning, it interrupted my subconscious just as it was trying to, of all things, act out an Elvis movie!

Now as you know, Bob Internets, I have seen many an Elvis movie in my time. I know how these plots work. And this one was set up perfectly: it had poor-and-broody-and-honest Elvis competing with slightly-skeevy-rich-boy, played in this particular movie by Brendan Fraser, competing for my affections. When the alarm clock went off I distinctly remember that Rich Boy had just given me a Kindle Fire and was trying to get me to agree to watch a bunch of anime with him. I was in the middle of protesting that not only did I have two ereaders already, but he’d also set up the Kindle with my actual Amazon account. Which I had not given him access to. (C.f. the ‘skeevy’ part of the character archetype here!)

I also remember a scene just before that bit, where I was out on a dock with Elvis’ character, and we were having the obligatory initial Bonding With Each Other Over Shared Background scene. I was making rueful commentary about my background with my father. But since this was indeed early in the plot, Elvis’ character got cranky at me, thinking I was making commentary about his father. (Boy howdy, do I know how these plots work. >:D)

I am somewhat disgruntled that we never got to the part where Elvis wins the day (and by day I mean girl, and by girl I mean me) when I get to overhear him belting out a suitably mournful love song. In fact, Elvis didn’t get to sing anything in this dream before I woke up. Which I suppose was my brain trying to follow the Murkworks Law of Elvis Movie Quality, i.e., that the quality of any given Elvis movie is inversely proportional to the number of songs in it (unless that movie is King Creole).

Well played, brain. Next time, though, if you really want to up the ante, make the rival another musician, and make him Quebecois. And have Elvis whip out a bouzouki.

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

I think I had what arguably could be my first "trying to be a professional writer" dream this morning. Apparently, Dream Me was trying to sell a manuscript to Teresa Nielsen Hayden--but it was a manuscript that seemed to be a retelling of a John Scalzi novel, only from Persephone's point of view. But Dream Me was waffling about the whole concept, too, and as I awoke, I found myself thinking about backing off selling the manuscript and just calling it the longest piece of Scalzi fanfic ever.

I am amused that my subconscious decided to latch onto Scalzi as the "other writer" in this scenario, given that whatever story Dream Me was working with was not Old Man's War, the only thing I've read by him to date. Neither was the retold version Queen of Souls, either, my Persephone story.

I should, I guess, be taking this as a sign to raise the priority on reading the two other Scalzi novels I've just bought--The Ghost Brigades and The Android's Dream--though he's going to have to wait until I'm done with Cory Doctorow. ;) (General note: Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town? Excellent. More on this to come.)

And, clearly, I'm twitching to get started on editing Queen of Souls, too!

Round about a quarter after five this morning, I snapped out of a rather alarming dream in which solarbird and I, for some reason, were at my childhood house in Louisville, Kentucky. And, at the moment of my awakening, it was in the process of getting swallowed by a sinkhole. I remember the house spinning quite disturbingly in its yard and then tilting, and then the noise of dirt falling on the roof.

Jolted awake, I got up for some water and then went back to bed.

Then, by way of apology, as if my subconscious were saying "You didn't want to dream about imminent death? Oops, my bad, here, have some Doctor", I then proceeded to dream about Dara and me about to become the Tenth Doctor's newest companions. Apparently taking off with the Doctor was going to involve quite a bit of effort, since I had to get all my stuff and then explain to some older ladies (who for some reason were visiting our house, and at least one of whom was a Barbara-Michaels-style author) that no, we didn't have any relations we had to notify about our impending trip. And despite looking like a teenager, I was actually 38.

And I remember the Doctor being baffled about his bones making crackly noises (since at least in the dream, Gallifreyan bones didn't do that), and I was brightly inquiring whether the TARDIS had been scanning my bones or something the last time it had done anything to his.

That latter dream, I blame entirely upon watching "Human Nature" last night, the first of the two-parter that just aired and which was very fine indeed. And yeah, when it comes to cake or death in my dreams, I'll take cake.

Especially if served by the Doctor. ^_^

This morning I had the latest in a series of ongoing Great Big Dreams. As many of them do, this one featured me at a GBS concert. However, this one was distinctive for two reasons: 1) the lovely and talented mamishka was present, and 2) I distinctly remember that Séan McCann was chatting with both of us (either after the concert was officially over or between songs, I don't remember which), and then he gave Meems a flute. I remember thinking that it was a fantastic-looking instrument, and that I was horribly, horribly jealous that he hadn't given it to me. ;)

And bizarrely enough, there was neither hide nor hair of Alan The Doyle to be found in this particular Great Big Dream! Perhaps this means I should be rearranging my userpics now to slip in an icon of Séan. I'm sure that silme711 has some lovelies I could swipe (she asked hopefully)?

Meanwhile, I have learned this valuable lesson: when the weather is gray and gloomy-like in Seattle is not necessarily the best of times to go trolling through your entire a-ha playlist on your iPod. I mean, I loves me some Morten Harket; even as of the last a-ha album I own (which is Lifelines), he's still got some impressive pipes and can hit some stunning high notes. But the vast majority of a-ha's repetoire, I find, falls into the categories of "waaah, our relationship has fallen apart, I'm all miserable now, how the hell did this happen?" and "my life is really strange and weird and I'm going to get all broody and introspective about it". After a while, under gray Seattle skies, that starts getting to you. Heh.

I have also re-confirmed that so far, out of all the a-ha albums I own, my favorites are Scoundrel Days, Stay On These Roads, and East of the Sun, West of the Moon. I still need to get Analogue, though I have yet to actually see it in a store the few times I've looked. I may have to buy it on iTunes.

I took a second spin through the new Carbon Leaf album today as well, and liked it better the second time through. It's still not grabbing me as hard as Echo Echo and Indian Summer do, but I think "Love Loss Hope Repeat", "A Girl and Her Horse", and "International Airport" are coming to the fore as repeat plays for me off this album.

Friday through Wednesday miles: 15.75
Miles out of Hobbiton: 1483.85
Miles out of Rauros Falls: 174.85
Miles to Isengard: 309.15

Last night was full of Great Big Dream mileage for me. And actually, this was a doubleheader--Alan Doyle and Russell Crowe in the same dream at the same time! But as per usual, my subconscious threw them at me in strange and bizarre ways.

There were two rounds of dream, too. Alan was in the first by himself, and all I remember about that one was him thinking about cutting his hair--which, as I have observed before, is a thought to strike terror into the heart of any Alan-obsessed GBS fan such as myself. I mean, it is said among GBS fandom that Alan's hair ought to have its own contract. Hells bells, I wrote it a sonnet. The hair of Alan Doyle is SACRED.

The second round of dream was weirder and more involved. I seem to recollect that it was set in some mutant version of Louisville, and it started off with me driving our white Honda in towards town. But for whatever reason, I wound up having to pull over to the side of the road and take my bike onto a trail cutting in under the overpass. I discovered that the police for some reason had cordoned off part of the trail, and because of my intrusion upon it, they had to confiscate my bike and wouldn't let me go back to my car either. So I wound up going to this nearby lodge sort of place--where others who were inconvenienced by this situation on the trail were also staying.

Including Russell and Alan. I got into the place, saw a bunch of people at a table, and did a huge doubletake when I saw Russell and Alan at the end of the table--not because they were there, but again because Alan had CUT HIS HAIR. It was SHORT. I distinctly remember Russell seeing me boggle, get this wry little snickering look on his face, and nudging Alan and pointing at me. I stammered my way into trying to converse with them; I don't remember much of what my dream self said.

And it was kind of moot anyway, because the next thing I remember is that somebody SET THE LODGE ON FIRE, and that nobody immediately found Russell or Alan after, so everybody thought they were dead. Including me. I remember a visual of a CNN web page mentioning that the two of them had been thought to perish in the blaze, but I can't remember whether it was my dream self imagining that or whether I actually saw it in the context of the dream.

Turned out that they didn't die anyway, and the last thing I remember is my finding them both as they're trying to get re-organized and find out why someone was trying to kill them. I sheepishly offered to let them crash at my place (though I'm not sure where that was in the context of the dream), but Russell turned me down because he was trying not to drink. I started to blurt out that we didn't have any alcohol at home, only then I remembered spazzkat's booze cabinet...

And then I woke up. With such high Doyle content in my dreams, it was obligatory that I fire up something GBS-related on my iPod on the way into my shiny new job, so as I ventured out into the chilly Kenmore morning I started playing the third GBS podcast (available here, and yes I AM plugging, why do you ask?).

And the first words uttered by The Doyle on said podcast were and I quote: "I don't know what to do about my hair. I think I should cut it." The man is trying to scare us all.

Or maybe he's just trying to scare ME.

The end!

Friday morning miles: 1.55 (walking)
Miles out of Hobbiton: 545.6
Miles out of Rivendell: 87.6
Miles to Lothlórien: 376.4

So there's a consequence, apparently, to my watching Master and Commander just before I go to bed: I had me another Russell Crowe dream. And in what has clearly become the tradition of my subconscious, it was one of those 'meet famous person and do otherwise completely normal stuff' scenarios.

Except, well, this was a little abnormal. In the dream, solarbird and I met RC at a convention (a science fiction convention, just to be clear; we don't attend any other kind). I remember what apparently prompted me to actually talk to him was that he had his kid with him, and I piped, "Can I see him?" He lit up and even let me hold the kid (who, although he is a toddler in real life, was an infant in this part of the dream). So we got to talking, just a sort of 'hanging out in the con suite' conversation. RC lets us take a picture of me with him, for 'I actually met him and I have PROOF!' mileage.

The weird part came in when I later realized that I didn't have the picture. I have this jumbled memory of Dara and me calling him, or something; he had the picture and sent it to us. But then he asked us to come to Australia for six months and babysit his kid!

(This is in fact the second time I have had a dream involving me caring for Russell Crowe offspring. Apparently my subconscious does not want to bear his children--it wants to be their nanny.)

Anyway, we did it, and then I remember scenes of being at his big ol' ranch in Australia. His wife Dani was there, and suddenly the kid was indeed a toddler, and I played guitar in one of the rooms of the house (though I think I was trying to play Carbon Leaf ditties, specifically "Desperation Song" since that was in my head when I woke up), and we had what my dreaming brain apparently decided was some variant of a Maori dinner. I remember being around a table with others, and we were serving each other little bits of fish. There may also have been green prickly fruit involved--pulled in from the Galapagos scenes in M&C.

When I woke up I told Dara about this, since she figured prominently into the dream. She said, "I'd do that for a million dollars! Except if the kid turned into fire or something."

I said, "RUSSELL! You didn't tell us he was a special needs baby!"

I have a very strange subconscious. But a very funny lifemate. ;)

Okay, brain? Let's have a conference here for a minute.

Great Big Sea concert dreams: Good. Dreams in which I am LOST in a theater containing a Great Big Sea concert, and taunted by a brief passing glimpse of the lovely and talented Alan Doyle and STILL unable to find the damn doors into the concert hall even as I'm hearing the opening strains of "Donkey Riding", and I wander around and don't actually get in until the concert is OVER: Bad.

Got that? Okay. Tonight, you're welcome to try that again from the top.

I passingly mentioned differences in my sleep and dream cycles in my arm status report post, but this warrants a separate post just because I like to note surreal dreams that I have. And I've had two this week. I don't know if this is a consequence of my healing enough to be able to sleep better (and therefore have longer and better opportunities for dream cycles), having enough of a cold that I've had to take Nyquil at night to sleep, or both.

( Dream #1 )

( Dream #2 )

I dreamed this morning about being at a Great Big Sea concert. No surprise there, even if it was one with seats instead of the open-dance-floor situation to which I have grown happily accustomed.

The strange parts involved walking into the concert apparently freshly out of the shower and wrapped in towels. Dream-Me realized that this was apparently a bad idea, and I was able to change to something fit to wear in public just by thinking about it.

Then in the concert I wound up in the wrong row, but it didn't seem to matter. And my friend Brent from Kentucky, who I have not seen more than a time or two since solarbird and I moved out here to Washington, actually was in the seat on the end, so Alan Doyle came up and made him sing a verse of something.

I seem to remember Mr. Doyle also tossing me a look and a comment to the effect of 'next time we're back come play with us'... but I am not trusting my subconscious lately, with the groggy state I'm in. ;) I think it's mocking me!