Work has been good. Have been doing my thing. I'm tired, though, just juggling plates and what-not (figuratively, mind you, not literally -- although my grandpa could do that; he was good at that kind of stuff). December has stalked into the frame, taking hold of the season, even though it's not officially winter, yet, it's making what's left of Fall its bitch.
Some of the boys' Christmas presents have arrived, which I've stealthily stashed and wrapped. Loving that. They're none the wiser. Muahaha!
Working on some new fiction, am nearly 20,000 words into it after about three weeks. That's going well. I still need to get more organized -- need to give away a lot of stuff to charity, like clothes and toys and books the boys never use, anymore. That kind of thing.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Dreamy
I don't routinely post dreams, because nothing's more boring than reading about somebody else's dreams, but my dreams have been odd, lately, full of celebrity cameos and what-not. For example, I dreamed that I was in some kind of cop movie-type scenario, flying low across the LA River (if you really want to call it a river), with 90s-era David Bowie riding shotgun with me, and offering commentary on the chase. We were cops, apparently, and Bowie was keen to get the bad guys, who were racing down the LA River whatever-you-call it--concrete apocalypse?
Another was an "Avatar"-scaled kind of war movie thing, with massive amounts of lasers and explosions and what-not.
Another was me chumming around backstage with young Stevie Nicks, who took me on a whirlwind tour of her world (there wasn't any other Fleetwood Mac folks around, although there were shadowy others around, but it was all about Stevie). And, ultimately, there was sex with Stevie Nicks, which both enticed and alarmed me in the course of the dream, because I was thinking "Wow, I'm having sex with Stevie Nicks!" and at the same moment, it was like "Oh, SHIT; I'm having sex with Stevie Nicks -- and I'm not wearing protection?!?!!" But the dream shifted before those thoughts went anywhere.
Still another had me in a protracted dispute with an Indian hair salon owner, who insisted that I owed her $800, and I as insistently pointed out that I didn't owe her place more than $20 for the haircut I'd just gotten, and we were going back and forth, and the stylist was embarrassed that their computer system apparently had no record of my transactions. I was arguing that I didn't have a running tab with the salon, that this was ridiculous. We both stood our ground, and the woman said she'd send me to small claims court, and I said "Fine. See you there!" and then the lady went back to her office and managed to find her financial records that showed that, yes, I had, in fact, paid my bill, and how sorry she was for the misunderstanding, and she wanted a hug to make things better. I was loathe to do so in the wake of the confrontation, but did so, while inwardly grossed out because the woman smelled like patchouli, one of my least-favorite scents in the world. Then I woke up.
Another was an "Avatar"-scaled kind of war movie thing, with massive amounts of lasers and explosions and what-not.
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| Stevie Nicks. Eyes UP HERE, Stevie. |
Still another had me in a protracted dispute with an Indian hair salon owner, who insisted that I owed her $800, and I as insistently pointed out that I didn't owe her place more than $20 for the haircut I'd just gotten, and we were going back and forth, and the stylist was embarrassed that their computer system apparently had no record of my transactions. I was arguing that I didn't have a running tab with the salon, that this was ridiculous. We both stood our ground, and the woman said she'd send me to small claims court, and I said "Fine. See you there!" and then the lady went back to her office and managed to find her financial records that showed that, yes, I had, in fact, paid my bill, and how sorry she was for the misunderstanding, and she wanted a hug to make things better. I was loathe to do so in the wake of the confrontation, but did so, while inwardly grossed out because the woman smelled like patchouli, one of my least-favorite scents in the world. Then I woke up.
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