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Snakes and hurricanes
Oct. 8th, 2004 12:35 pmDream last night: I'm in some kind of school - I don't know what age I am, although I want to say something like ten - and there's the aftereffects of a hurricane going by. In this dreamworld, a hurricane is shaped like a comet: there's this wee round rainstorm, then these big blobs of wind that knock everything over.
I'm running down an outside hallway, with doors to classrooms to my right, watching rows of cartoon-tall trees falling flat on their sides. There are walls that pitch over too; they're cyclone fencing with blue strips woven into the links. A barn collapses; it's four floors, and before it goes down the front of it is peeled off, like a dollhouse, so I can see what's inside.
I'm seeing people scrambling out of the place. Some kid I'm with goes poking around in the wreckage of blue-painted wooden fence railings and turns up a snake. I'm trying to remember the rhyme - red and black, etc - and the kid picks it up. The snake is big and rather wild, but he holds it until the warmth of his body calms it.
We're herded back inside for an English assignment; we go quietly, but reluctantly. I ask for, and recieve, the snake. It winds around my neck like a huge necklace, then, smaller, wraps itself around my forearm. It is docile and watches me with shining black eyes. I'm waiting for someone to make a fuss about my new pet, but nobody seems to notice.
( And pictures. Of RILEY. )
Yesterday I had to fax roughly fifty-seven sheets of paper for some financial thing my mother's got herself into. I was sleepy going into Kinko's (warm car, slow music, slow drive, lots of traffic), but after battling the evil fax machines and then being flirted with by the cute boy who rang me up, I was awake. I got to wondering, on the drive back, whether it was the mental battle of wills - Indi vs. machine - that woke me up. Then I mentally segued into something I'd read about keeping pet mice: make sure you present them with challenges so that they can work their little brains and solve problems and stuff. Are daily annoyances useful, in that they make us use our brains?
I'm running down an outside hallway, with doors to classrooms to my right, watching rows of cartoon-tall trees falling flat on their sides. There are walls that pitch over too; they're cyclone fencing with blue strips woven into the links. A barn collapses; it's four floors, and before it goes down the front of it is peeled off, like a dollhouse, so I can see what's inside.
I'm seeing people scrambling out of the place. Some kid I'm with goes poking around in the wreckage of blue-painted wooden fence railings and turns up a snake. I'm trying to remember the rhyme - red and black, etc - and the kid picks it up. The snake is big and rather wild, but he holds it until the warmth of his body calms it.
We're herded back inside for an English assignment; we go quietly, but reluctantly. I ask for, and recieve, the snake. It winds around my neck like a huge necklace, then, smaller, wraps itself around my forearm. It is docile and watches me with shining black eyes. I'm waiting for someone to make a fuss about my new pet, but nobody seems to notice.
( And pictures. Of RILEY. )
Yesterday I had to fax roughly fifty-seven sheets of paper for some financial thing my mother's got herself into. I was sleepy going into Kinko's (warm car, slow music, slow drive, lots of traffic), but after battling the evil fax machines and then being flirted with by the cute boy who rang me up, I was awake. I got to wondering, on the drive back, whether it was the mental battle of wills - Indi vs. machine - that woke me up. Then I mentally segued into something I'd read about keeping pet mice: make sure you present them with challenges so that they can work their little brains and solve problems and stuff. Are daily annoyances useful, in that they make us use our brains?
