I will have my revenge on whoever is responsible for the disturbing situations I continue to face in the dream world.
I have grown accustomed to the monsters and the never knowing who I am going to be. In time, I could possibly get used to the newer experiences of shifting POV, having all five senses engaged, or even having dream-creatures acknowledge me as an outsider to the world the action of my dreams is taking place in. Even the increasing cinematic awesomeness of the dreams is tolerable.
But last night, a character in the dream world killed my Jester. That is patently not permitted to happen in my dreams. Thank you very much.
..I was dreaming a ridiculous dream wherein I was at first on a plane. But I did not see the inside of the plane or look out of a window or anything that would normally indicate “you are on a plane”. No. I only knew this because I was holding a sepia-toned map in my hands, and a small, dotted line was moving from one side of the Atlantic ocean to the other. (So assuming I was on a plane is only logical, right?)
And then France was there. Or I was. The plane was gone though, and I was in the country. France, specifically. We were at a quaint, old-timey B&B sort of place. Jester was talking to me about something, but I was not really listening because, in this dream, I am a spy, and I was glancing furtively around the door to make sure the hallway was empty, because the Russian mafia was after me and I was only half-sure they did not know my whereabouts.
Then I shut the door and went to take my shoes off and suddenly–BAM!–door bangs open and this blonde woman wearing ballet shoes twirls into the room and–BANG! FLASH!–shoots Jester and takes a Polaroid photo. I whip out a gun and–BOOM!–shoot at her and miss, but in dodging my shot, she drops the picture of the face Jester was wearing at the exact moment of being shot. I pick up this picture and, as I am looking at it and avoiding looking at the body sprawled on the bed, the same reddish mist that sometimes blurs my waking vision rolls over the dream world. I can feel myself bang into the door frame, and feel my feet hit the ground as I set off after the Russian woman, and I know I’ll see her again soon because the head of the mafia was collecting the photos of his targets and she knew she had to bring it back or be executed…
I very nearly jumped awake because I was so angry and upset. As many times as people and monsters have tried to kill me in the dream world, I think this is the first time any of them has attempted to harm someone I love. At least…not that I can remember.
I feel compelled to give him extra hugs next time I see him. 😦
In other news…K called me and we had a very interesting conversation. About work. And our failures at mixing drinks. 😛
And speech patterns. I’ve been doing an experiment for nigh on three weeks now, and I’m astonished that I feel calmer just based on an attempt to use more formal grammar and eliminate contractions in conversation. Mostly I’ve been doing it at work, where I am most stressed…it’s like by focusing on the words, I slow myself down just enough that I can’t get as worked up about things. I has the likes. And I may continue to do it since it fits in with my goal of figure-out-how-to-calm-yourself-at-work-so-you-don’t-get-a-rage-induced-ulcer-or-punch-someone-in-their-face.
My only dislike is passive structure and weak verbs. I’ll get better at it though, I hope.
Time to check on laundry and sleep.