June 11th, 2009


I don't invent this stuff, I just live here

The sign on the door I closed just before waking up this morning:

"Look tres, latte, and leche! The monsters in the southwest, northeast, and west corners of this room are different and have their own [something]. Kids these days don't understand our problems."

I expect whatever was trying to come through the door in the waiting room was harmless, but having just noticed the sign when the door began to swing open, I decided the better part of valor was to toe it shut and lock it real quick.

This after a dream in which my father had fallen from a very high piece of playground equipment trying to demonstrate how to safely climb down a rope. We couldn't get him treated immediately because his doctor had been arrested for something to do with copyright violations in sheet music. My mother had previously been arrested for the same thing, but she was released quickly and this guy, who was a friend of hers, was going to be in for a looooong time because one of the three doctors doing, um, something, to him, related to evidence-gathering, maybe? Anyway, one of the three alien (did I mention they were aliens? There were occasional aliens in this dream, although they were very rare because there are an awful lot of humans to dilute them in and space travel is expensive) doctors turned out to be allergic to something related to the crime and died. So my parents' lawyer wouldn't defend the guy, because the death made it "a Second Amendment issue. I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot pole."

It's an interesting place, my brain.

(I further note that I used to never be able to remember specific text or speech from my dreams -- I could remember the gist sometimes, but not the actual words. I've gotten much better at that as I've aged.)