A Moment's Respite

I'm up to my eyeballs in work (and you thought your home was messy!) but having accomplished a fair amount already, I thought it would be an opportune moment to take a short break to update this blasted weblog thing. Having no rehearsal tonight has also given me a moment to pause, catch up, and hopefully do some laundry.

Since Keltie mentioned her odd dreams over in ShinyHappy, I thought I'd share a pair of my nocturnal meanderings.

The other day I had one of those "in a public place and wearing no pants" dreams. I awoke in the middle of the night and, in a state of semi-consciousness, put on a pair of pants and went back to sleep. I awoke, roastingly hot, in the morning and recalled my curious behaviour of the night.

The strange thing was that, when I had awakened from my dream, I knew that it had been a dream, but in my stupor I guess I sort of thought, "Well, I might as well nip that in the bud and put on some pants so that it doesn't really happen in the morning."

Then last night I had another odd dream in which I was locking up at work and, suddenly realizing that I'd left something inside, I opened the door again but (as happens in dreams) for some reason couldn't get to the little keypad to punch in the code. The alarm signal went out and I got a call from a police officer asking what was going on. A rather rude police officer. One who should not be dealing with the public, particularly over the phone.

In any case, as I'm explaining who I am and that I am supposed to be in the building, a little girl appears beside me. It was one of those "I know who you are in the context of the dream, but in real life I would be thinking HUH?" scenarios.

To make a long (and not too interesting) story short, I have to do a tour around the building, because something keeps preventing the "Green Light" that says you can set the alarm again from turning on. In the end, I find some strange man (who turned out to be the mysterious girl's father on the run from the law -- very dramatic, I know) hiding out in a little nook (which does not exist in real life) of the bathroom (which does exist). I'm not sure if the cop who came was meant to be the same one that I spoke to on the phone. If so, he was significantly less abrasive.

Alarms, mysterious little girls, criminals on the run, cops, and my workplace. I'm sure there's a neurotic disorder somewhere buried in there.

In unrelated news, I recently watched Flowers in the Attic, thanks to a burst of nostalgia. A good 20 years ago, my friend Heather would make me watch it with alarming frequence, so I thought I'd give it a view. Wow. It's not very good, is it? It's not the worst thing I've seen, or anything, it's just a typical 80s gothic suspense yarn aimed at teens. It's got it all! A big old mansion. Religious fanatics. Little blonde children (played by a pair of not-too-wonderful child actors). And, most importantly, the little haunting melody sung by a disembodied soprano voice now and then. Ahhh! Memories. Oh, and it also has one of the worst wigs ever to grace the screen. Good times.

Now, back to work for me!