The Minutiae of Life as a Militant Squirrel

No, really.

Last time, I had this horrible dream wherein I spent the entire night trapped in an insane asylum with all of my least favorite tv characters.

This time, I dreamed I was in a line of cars waiting to cross the railroad tracks, only there was a car on the tracks that got hit by the train, and so the rest of us were all covered with a rain of ash and blood and body parts.

For the record, I do NOT own a convertible, but still. Nasty, unpleasant dream.

I choose to blame the cheese.

I was in the middle of an awesome dream this morning when the freaking alarm went off! Naturally, that meant that I *didn't*.

Why doesn't my alarm wake me up when I'm dreaming that I'm being chased by giant slugs? No, it beeps just when Dean is fucking me really good. And really, using a vibrator to finish up is just not the same as the dream memory of a warm, weighty body and slick, hard cock.

*sigh*

I don't even know why I have this tagged as "sex life". Not like I have one outside of my own mind these days.

*is bitter*

Okay. Someone, please, tell me this did not just happen.

I did NOT just fall asleep at my desk AT WORK and wake up with keyboard prints on my face from a dream wherein I was living with and fucking like a crazed weasel . . . .

CHRISTIAN KANE?!?!?! WTF?!?!?!

And that my dream self was totally avoiding him because he was so good in the sack that I knew I wouldn't be able to get Sam and Dean to hook up . . . which for some reason was part of my job description?

Although why Christian Kane would be running around in my dream trying to catch me and seduce me with a sword, I have no idea.

I hate my subconscious.

I would totally do the *headdesk* thing except that I'm pretty sure that's how I got myself into this situation in the first place.

In an amusing aside, just how cool is it that we had a Hurricane Dean?

My world's-coolest-supervisor said that it would be like having Evil!Dean around, and I said, without even thinking about it, "That's okay, that's what chains and ball gags were invented for."

And then I crawled under my desk to hide for a while.

Clearly, I need to get laid.

So I dreamed that my hair was being cut off. Other than the rather obvious ( and lame! ) Samsonian implications, what does that mean?


( Here are a few ideas. )

Honestly, I much prefer the dreams wherein Riley and Graham arrive to save me from certain doom. Even more preferably, they're usually shirtless.

Bits and pieces, cobbled together from the dusty, sleepy rooms of my mind . . . .

How pretentious is a guy whose screen name is DRKRTHANANGELUS??? Please. You're not anywhere near hot enough to even try that one.

Pretty, cute underwear is a real mood-lifter. Today's panties are hot pink with tangerine polka dots and matching tangerine lace trim, with little ribbon bows in strategic places. They are so adorable that I wish I could wear them on the outside of my clothes.

Kristin is still furious at me. I am still massively confused.

Last night's dreams included one wherein I run off to Canada to join the Atlanta Falcons football team. Because, yes, it makes so much geographical sense.

I am currently reading Fire From Heaven, the fictionalized biography of Alexander the Great. And dear God in Heaven . . . wow, is this hot or what? I'm halfway through and am itching to get back to it and see what happens next. Oh, I know it will all end badly and the world will just go to hell in a handcart, but my God, the love developing between Hephaistion and Alexander is something to behold.

Of course, this gave rise to yet another dream, one in which Lex and Clark held starring roles and featured me in a prominent location.

*Sigh.*

Also, I write better porn when I am horny, I have discovered. That will probably follow in a later post.

Right before I woke up this morning, I dreamed that I called out of work because I had to go and adopt a big black German Shepherd that I named Minerva.

I really miss having a dog.

It ran away while I wasn't looking, apparently.

As always, this charter member of the Procrastinator's Club has put off chores until the house was ready to get up and walk away on its own, so I spent the weekend cleaning. Ugh.

The reward, though, was setting up my home computer and playing on it intermittently all weekend.

Yes, I got a brand-spankin'-new computer! Whoo-hoo!!

It's sitting on the desk in the guest room, all shiny and sparkly and distracting.

I named it Spike, since it performs much better when I swear at it in British slang.

*evil grin*

I also rearranged the living room furniture. Six years is a long time to have the same setup, and I was itching for a change. I like the new layout a lot, but damn! My back hurts from shoving that giant sofa around the room. And now the carpet is all ripply-looking. At least the entertainment center was more maneuverable than I had expected, once I removed all the drawers full of CDs and videos and the like.

I slept like the dead once I finally went to bed on Saturday night, except for a really detailed, vivid dream that I had.

I don't know much about dream interpretation, which is kind of a bummer on a day like today, when I just can't figure out why I keep dreaming about one person in particular.

This is a guy I had a crush on years ago, pretty much from eighth grade until he moved away during our sophomore or junior year of high school. In my freshman year of college, I saw him at a Halloween party and I've wondered ever since then what might have happened if I'd stayed there at the party and kept talking to him, returning his fairly obvious interest, instead of chaperoning my drunken friend Kristin through a round of frat houses and several versions of Bill Cosby's toilet bowl routine.

Periodically, this guy shows up in my dreams, and we're usually connecting in one form or another.

( Dream details, if that sort of thing interests you. )

This dream is surprising, mostly for its detail and intensity. It's also very chronological in a way that my dreams seldom are.

So what I need to figure out, I guess, is what he represents in my life that I feel I'm missing and am searching for.

I think.

Or maybe I just need to get laid.

Anybody with more experience in dream interpretation than I is welcome to put in their two cents.

Since I couldn't sleep last night anyway, I went on the net and searched through people directories and Google, but apparently, his is a fairly common name. Who knew? I wish there was some great database-in-the-sky that well-meaning people such as myself could search to find out what old crushes are up to these days!

And the dream I had last night when I finally did get to sleep? The one about going shopping for a new mattress? I think that just means that I need a new mattress.

Dammit. This one's only six years old, and it has a huge trench in the middle from me and the dog. They just don't make 'em like they used to.

So I had this dream on Sunday night, involving Riley Finn and a chicken salad sandwich.

Not *that* way, so stop snickering.

I didn't even start to remember the dream until lunchtime yesterday, when I was staring at the chicken salad sandwich on my plate and it all came rushing back to me.

So I remember that I was involved with Riley in the dream, in a setting that evoked something of "military wife", although we were emphatically not married.

See? Even my dream-self knows better than to get leg-shackled.

Anyway, I remember a feeling of overwhelming happiness, laced liberally with the fear that This Is Too Good To Be True. We walked outside together, and in the shade of large tree in front of our house were seven neat piles of ten pennies each.

I started freaking out in the dream, because I knew that this meant The Bad Thing had found me. Riley, of course, is being his usual perfect, calming self, assuring me that nothing can harm me, that I'm safe, that he won't let me go. I allow him to reassure me, and he says he has to report for duty, and I should get some lunch.

*This* is where the chicken salad sandwich comes in.

In the mad way of dreams, it appears on a plate in front of me, all piled up high on a kaiser roll, the way I like it.

Only . . . when I reach for the plate and pick it up, I start to rise into the air.

I'm soaring over the base, screaming for Riley, but he's fighting in the courtyard and can't hear me, and that's when I realize that it's all been a diversion and I'm caught.

By The Bad Thing.

I can't let go of the sandwich, because it's too far to fall to the ground. I'm still calling for Riley, but I know he won't hear me.

Except . . . he does. And he seizes hold of something that looks suspiciously like the maracas that showed up at my cousin's wedding reception on Saturday night, and rises into the air to catch hold of me. "I told you," he says. "I won't let you go."

Now for the analysis.

It's quite the recurrent theme in my dreams that I am someone of importance, someone in need of protecting, even coddling. The more faceless and unimportant I feel in my waking life, the more likely am to have one of these dreams.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm normally highly independent, to the point of stiff-necked pride -- but every once in awhile, I fall into a fit of . . . hmm. What would you call it? Just the desire to have someone else make the difficult decisions and handle the tough things that life can throw at me. When I'm robbing Peter ( the phone company ) to pay Paul ( the electric company ) and the rent's due and the dog needs a refill on her heartworm prescription and I still haven't consolidated my student loans and resolved the whole back-to-grad-school issue . . . well. I think it's pretty obvious why, in my dream world, Lex or Graham or Riley or Clark steps in to solve problems and cuddle me to boot.

I don't need a shrink to tell me *that*.

Although the strange appearance of the chicken salad sandwich is certainly a new twist. Maybe I was just hungry.

So what are *your* weirdest dreams?