Portrait of the Artist as a Young Geek

Okay, weird dream time.

Seems I was Lelouch from Code Geass. I was in a classroom at Ashford, Geassing people into leaving so they wouldn't notice the Knightmare in the corner. (No, I don't know why someone parked it in the classroom. No, I don't know how it fit in the classroom either. It looked like it was hanging on the coatrack, actually. Yay dream logic.)

Finally it was just me and CC. For whatever reason, while we were there and alone, I decided to zap her with a Geass just to get her to tell me, honestly, what she thought of me romantically. (Yes, I know Lelouch's Geass doesn't work on CC.) Rousing success: she admitted she was head over heels for me (which I guess means even my subconscious is a Lelouch/CC shipper). Then she approached, I took her in my arms... and then the door opened and in burst a shapeless mass of blue fur and googly eyes.

That's right, I dreamt I got cock-blocked by the damn Cookie Monster.

Dreamt I was on a hostage rescue mission as my primary hero character. Some abandoned tram station that looked like it had been built during the 19th century; wood construction and everything. Single room, two trollkin, but no signs of the hostages, which is probably why I didn't just fry the trolls like I'd do in game: I needed to get the location of the hostages out of them. (Well, that and tossing flames in a beat-up wooden train station is a bad idea.) So I walk in, and we stare at each other, and I play negotiator for a bit. I think I had some great plan about trading myself for one of the hostages -- then I'd be stashed with the other hostage and I could break us both out pretty easily -- but I hadn't convinced them to make the trade before I woke up. I do remember having second thoughts about my plan toward the end, though; I was concerned they were going to find some way to lock me up that I (in spite of my ability to punch/melt through the Council's reinforced cell doors given enough free time) couldn't escape. Maybe whatever they use in the Zig to contain supervillains. But then, if the Council sticks to the reinforced steel after all the hero breakouts, I doubt two trolls would be able to come up with a better idea.

Anyway, I don't know why I bothered to share that, but for the fact that I normally never remember my dreams that clearly.

Yay for Kerri Walsh: Silicon Valley native, beach volleyball player, and now, with her teammate Misty May, Olympic gold medalist.

No boss for the past few days, which is nice, but he'll be back tomorrow I think. Hopefully I can get motivated to finish the checklist today.

I shouldn't have stayed up as late as I did last night, but it didn't help that I woke up at least twice. Both after dreams which I actually remember pretty well: one where I was helping train the 1980 Olympic hockey team (the one from Miracle), and one where I was assisting a young (attractive) woman find an apartment. In the latter one, I woke up right after she found out the apartment she wanted was hers, and was hugging me in gratitude. Rats.

I think I've mentioned Ron, our friend and tenant two weeks out of the month, before. This time his entire family tagged along. Which makes for a slightly crowded house, but not as big an inconvenience as you might expect: they've mostly been visiting local attractions and so forth. Then yesterday Ron's car (the one he keeps here for work purposes) completely dies on him. Estimate comes back with a dead transmission, needs to be replaced, two grand. Forget it. He's getting a new one. But in the meantime, we get to play musical cars, and I wind up hauling Dad to work on the way to the office this morning.

My grandmother has had on-again, off-again skin cancer for about a year now. The doctors think they've gotten rid of it, she's fine for a couple months, then it comes back again and the cycle repeats. Tomorrow they're upping the stakes and putting her on chemotherapy. If you're a believer in prayer, I'd appreciate it.

For some odd reason, I dreamt I was at Vic's place. Except she wasn't home yet, but Shade was there, so I chatted with her for a bit. And I needed a phone number that Vic had, but since she wasn't there to ask, I was pondering whether it would be a good idea to go into her room and find her address book. Thankfully, Vic came home before I had to make the decision. We'd never met IRL, even in my dream, so we introduced ourselves. And there was also something about kittens that wouldn't let go of my leg...

...and then the scene shifted and I had been voted off the island in Survivor. *shrug* Analyze that how you will.

I was in a convenience store, when two punks run in with guns and rob the cash register. Then they decide that as a witness I'm too dangerous to live, so one of them shoots me and runs (though they leave the clerk along, oddly enough). Thing is, the bullet was either a really weak caliber (or I've just got thick skin) because it lodges in the area under my chin and stays there. So I spend the rest of the dream (most of which I don't remember clearly) walking around with a bullet in my skull.

Sadly enough, there were no hot women anywhere in this one.

Also sadly, I'm still exhausted, even though I actually got eight hours of sleep last night.