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Doom Dreams
#83
So I'm in this shop with some other people, and there's this twitchy guy. He's skinny, goateed, beatnicky, and twitchy. He's got this walking stick, and for whatever reason he starts poking it at my face.

You know, like a child pretends to throw a ball at your face time and again at point-blank range, fascinated by your flinches and deaf to your threats, until finally you have to lock the child in a closet for a few hours.

I keep reaching out, trying to grab the damned stick away from him, but he's very twitchy, keeps it just out of range. Really annoyed, I lunge at him, reaching out as fast as I can--

--and slam my hand into the stand on my side of the bed.

It's a good thing I wasn't facing the other direction, or I could have done serious damage to my hand on Lady Cranefly's suit of armor, which she's taken to wearing to bed.

When I related my dream to Lady Cranefly, she related hers to me -- and this is the truth.

I was slumped over inside a car, and Lady Cranefly kept struggling to get me out. She finally had to cut off all four of my limbs to get me free.

WTF?

I think she's finally ready to watch Audition.
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