|Even my nightmares...
||[Apr. 2nd, 2008|08:39 am]
So I dream a lot at night and I often remember them, but sadly, they're usually just like a day at work with just a soupcon of surreal. But last night's was definitely more traditional -- |
Inspired, I'm sure, by my researching my knee issue: we're down to torn meniscus, torn ACL (will find out on Tuesday) or immune disorder. (That just always shows up when there's anything wrong with me.)
So, I'm sadly familiar with the meniscus, but ACL, I know only from greyhounds, so I was reading up on what they do with people. And one of the options is to replace the ligament with one taken from:
How cool is THAT? I know, some people get metal parts and call themselves bionic. I'm the other kind of geek. I could get a cadaver part and could call myself part ZOMBIE. (Don't get me wrong -- I'm still holding out for "oh, this is nothing that a shot of cortisone and a month of wearing a brace won't fix" but my default is glass half-empty.)
Which led, last night, in my dreams, to being pursued by zombies. Thank you, pitcher of HardCore cider. Luckily for me, especially given my shaky pins (yes, I bring my limitations to my dreams. I know, YOU can fly in your dreams. Shut up, okay? I limp) they were the slow zombies. Not shambling really, just sort of slowly walking, stumbling. Rather unaware and reasonably easy to avoid. Unless they touched you, then boom, you were grabbed and gone. Not slavering for brains, really, just relentless meat eaters, who would notice and pursue you...slowly but inexorably...if they noticed you were actually live meat. But too stupid to open a doorknob. And not energetic enough to break windows or barricades. And if they couldn't get anything to eat, they would eventually just subside back down and wither away. (although there were always enough careless idiots who managed to get caught and replenish the ranks. You know -- they were going five miles below the speed limit in the lefthand lane this morning when you were trying to get to work.)
Clearly, the zombies were channeling my current semi-depressed, lethargic state. (Please, no sympathy -- waddya want, I hurt, I've got allergies, a s-load of things to do...it'll pass. And other people have way more pain going on) Which was good, because while the dream was stressful, at least it wasn't panicky horrible.
Frankly, the whole dream managed to be a series of planning escape routes, making u-turns, missing exits, and trying to find a parking space. Which finally woke me up, because of course, all that driving around, I had to pee.
So I got up, thought, "whew, that was a stupid dream. Glad that's over with" and went back to bed. Where it promptly started right back up again. I really hate an annoying dream that won't give up. Only by now, I'd wound up in a large school of some kind with a band of survivors and we were making plans to make a mass escape. Because we were in Florida and I think we figured there'd be a lower percentage of slow, easily caught old people farther north.
And the rest of the dream was basically me pulling together food and other supplies, paired with this guy, whom I never actually saw, who was in charge of getting weapons, materials and assigning jobs to people. Which means, in retrospect, that HE was me. Because I'm sexist AND bossy, even in my sleep.
Sure, there was some foraging outside and zombie avoidance, but really, I'm a little disappointed -- even my nightmares are mired in mundanity.
Which is an interesting word. Mundanity. I just looked it up, for fear that it was another one I just made up. But it's real. And, oddly enough, has two meanings, which sort of contradict each other. I mean it in the commonplace and ordinary sense. Not the intellectually sophisticated and wordly sense.
I dunno -- I'm thinking that we should just pick a definition here and make up another word -- that's sort of dumb. Maybe we should make inflammable mean intellectually sophisticated, since we already have flammable for the whole ignitable thing.
Maybe I should get back to work....