It's not a queer theory post; stop drooling.

( I actually had a dream I can even remember. )

It was a life dream before it was anything else. It was actually shaping up pretty okay.

Why is it always an elevator? She screamed for what felt like forever, chopped to silence amid a thick, wet crunch. The runner unraveled in my hands.

"It's not the fall that kills you; it's the return ride."

I let go to the screaming and sparking of gears.

I'm mostly just angry about losing the sleep.

The downside of being a very visual person is having intense, exact visual memory.

Ah. I had projects that needed the attention anyway. No big, I guess. Other than it made me terrified to turn the lights on. That was fun. XD

To start: since last Friday I've been running on an average of three hours' sleep a day.

( School. It matters. )

Housecleaning. It's not my favorite thing.

I like even less when horrible paper dust and flotsam rains a blizzard down on my freshly cleaned floors.

I am grateful for the new insulation, fellas, really. But.

Oh. There was also the part where I accidentally released some sort of chemical vapor in the bathroom because apparently Tilex and Lysol toilet cleaner are not friends?

It burned. In the back of my mouth. In my eyes. Dropped everything and fled to the guest bath, showered in my clothes, coughed up a little blood, realized I wasn't going to pass out and therefore could not possibly die from exposure, so it probably wasn't chlorine.

My lungs are still raw. But they've always been touchy. I just hope I don't get sick between here and there; there's the usual dorm croup going around because the incoming freshmeats and their parents are visiting in droves again, and I might actually catch it in an already-hurt state. Mouth taste was a little sideways yesterday, but it's fine now.

Strange, my eyes were what hurt the most, and they're fine.

So I took a nap and rewashed the linens and refused to clean the floors again, and slept.

Yesterday was more real world obligations. I was so tired I don't remember most of them.

( Dreaming and Star Trek fic writing talk. )

Um. I swear the original purpose of this entry was...

( Yesterday: awesome day was AWESOME. )

Today was doing a bunch of stuff I didn't want to do and then taking another nap, during which the subject appeared to be why Kirk/McCoy rules or something.

I just had the weirdest batshit dream ever.

No, really. It was prom or something, one of those parties, and Nsync were there, and they were ALL my bffs/agony aunts/older brothers or whatever.

And they were trying to help me get laid.

And I was all "Dude, I hope Justin is getting some, because nothing else is happening at this lame-o party."

Yeah.

FTR, I do wish this was a lie.

This sentence is false. *Snerk.*

I had fun dreams about the book stacks, tattoos, and Lost in Space.

My recall is fragmentary and has been for (two?) years. There's rust and spiders in the filing cabinet.

Lately, there are a lot of staircases--going down, coming up, running for the windows, knives, blood, fire and paper and squalor. And a few musicians.

The grind begins tomorrow.

Now I am somewhere I am not supposed to be
And I can see things no one really should see

I woke up with it there, stuck. It's been like that for an hour.

I had a dream.

That would be my speech.

I had a dream.

Dear Subconscious,

I don't love you, either.

Pure hatred,

Me.

I haven't dreamed about Zelda in a hundred years.

It was cool, 'cause Zelda's people were...their island floated free of the ground. They had flying powers and stuff.

The entries for "princess" on Internet dream cross-references are pathetic.

Apparently, one can never dream they are an old woman pursued by monsters fleeing to see the wizard on behalf of the princess. It just is not possible.

The castle was awesome and shiny and made of dark, dark glossy bricks in a deep moss color.

Yeah. There.

Pretty awesome dream.

( They'll never bury your bones. )

C'mon, join up, and I'll be frank:
Unless you do, you'll walk the plank!

Hah. He was also Dr. T. I loved his mannerisms with a desperate and unhealthy love. <3

I'm not entirely certain I'm at all capable of the normal kind, actually.

Such is life.

En shen en.

I don't really care for James Michener's work--the sentences are brittle, flat and uninteresting--but Legacy is a short enough read that I feel I can sit still for it. Then people will stop telling me I ought to read his books. (See also: JRRT, Steven King, Dickens, Steinbeck, Tolstoy, et. al., ad nauseam).

Anyway. Using an offhand line from one of the character sketches therein, I plugged Philadelphia and Norfolk (the first Virginia seaside-ish town I could think of) into Google maps, and, thus and therfore and thereby, and possibly therewith, estimate that five days' ride on horseback at an average pace covers a distance of about 270 miles, give or take some.

This is useful for drawing original-universe maps of the fantasy variety in particular; I'd imagine halving the time across the same distance for steam-punk and/or murder mysteries with that old-time flavor--anything using steam rail. I haven't checked whether that bears out, but it sounds reasonable and would merit a saving throw and/or willpower check by interested parties.

Iron Man was fun. Stupid, but fun, and Robert Downey Jr. may continue with these antics if he wishes; I no longer disapprove. (O, ringing endorsement, so enthusiastic thou art.)

I had a brief, intense thing for Tony Stark at the age of ten, you see.

Clearly, I need sleep.

I had some good sleep earlier today, one of my jagged-edged catnaps fronted and backed by panics, with the fast, razor-sharp dreams of sentences written and spoken and shouted and screamed, faster, faster, faster--language lessons.

MOAR SLEEP NOW KTHX.

Did I dream what I am hearing, thinking I heard, now? As a fragment of memory.

I suspect it was a dream, antic, confused; I shouldn't have examined meaningless celebrity photos before bed.

Someone had wrote or was saying, something about benefits tremendously from the trio of features that make any album radio ready, and I can't remember what they--

Wait! I think they were clips from the Today show reruns while I tried desperately to locate something worth watching. Okay.

You really have to display information
To discover relativity

It is possible to have excellent self-esteem and be worth nothing at all.

If you said his love was better you know you'd be lyin'
Your new boyfriend looks a lot like me!

There now.

Every nightmare I have that isn't about being naked or late for a test is about that thing.

(Hah. I've never dreamed I was frightened of being naked. It doesn't exist in my dream language. I never used to have test nightmares, either, but it changed after that thing.)

Currently, I'm having a recurring dream about being beaten to death/kicked down several flights of stairs. I'm almost able to get away, but then they stomp my ribs in. It's going on the second week solid.

Is that the best you can do?

*Goes back to perusing the request list at oniisama_e_kink.*

I was so thoroughly asleep that I dreamed I got up and turned the alarm off.

My alarm is a loud, indescribably unpleasant, continuous single tone that takes about ten minutes to run down. There is no snooze button. (Welcome to 1985). Those don't work for me, anyway.

I once tore a fancy digital snoozy clock out of the wall so hard that the cord snapped. I was slightly irritated by the snooze function and its tendency to recur.

Anyway. This morning, according to the clock, it took about six minutes for me to realize that I was still dreaming.

Last year I was so sleep-deprived that I could easily ignore the thing, until "this one time", when it finally woke up my Stepdad from across the hall--with the door shut.

I was not and am not exaggerating when I say it's loud.

I suppose I should be Mary Sunshine and note that at least it's proof I slept deeply.

Also. Could someone please advise the general population that correcting someone is not an acceptable way to say hello? It's possibly the single rudest greeting that there is. It is offensive and vile and does not make one think highly of the perpetrator. At least flat insults are earnest and make the giver dirty-faced first.

I dreamed that there was a book that would tell me what it meant. This of course was waylaid by another more particular book.

There is no Acts 33:57. Even I know that. Yes, without looking.

On bended knee? Not tonight. I have a headache.

I once had lots of pride
The world was in my hands
I lived way at the top
In castles made of sand

(Oh, oh, oh, I dream of you, sometimes)

Was it as good for you as it was good for me?

We may be talking apocrypha, here, but that's more research than I care to do.

Oh, damn the council at Nicea, anyway.

Isn't he great? *Waves to Roy.* So pretty with his gun under his chin. Can't do it. CLICK CLICK.

Some days it's like this picture.

Actually, it's like this one other picture I have, which is the mood perfectly, but it's behind the gory content filter and I don't have reposting permission.

See? I'm ethical. ;p

I know what I want I know what I want I know what I want.

And 'round and 'round the needle spins.

I'm actually in a very good mood. I had wonderful dreams. The housekeeper and I got loaded and danced around to whatever was coming out of the stereo. Not that kind of dancing. She was a nice lady.

Ill health. The trees for the forest. Uncertainty. What's that in the past? Consider what you put under the rug.

Oh, shut up, Google, it was harmless fun. =^p

My newest recurring dream is of vomiting blood. The level of detail is interesting. I don't have dry heaves when I'm awake. I've never heaved empty. Comes of being diplegic and dyspeptic all at once, you know.

Half the time I've got a mouthful of dinner waiting for me when I wake up.

Slash overshare.

Speaking of which, Grandfather wasn't quite on the money; we're Austrian. At least on his side. That explains the Prussia issue. That never made sense to me as a kid. Hello, final piece of the puzzle.

I'm Amestrian!

Just a tad. XD

Because I know everyone north of Georgia doesn't have tads, darlin', that means "a bit".

Uh, I'm fine. We're all fine here, thanks, how are you?

Boring conversation, anyway.

It's alarming the number of events in my life and adulthood I can explain entirely in quotations from the Disney version of Peter Pan. But that's another day.

Gotta jet.

I had an interesting night. I kept waking and sliding down into sleep again, drowsy and satisfied.

I dreamed of the water people, of the land-and-water-people, of the falling towers and the trench. Water people emissary. They broke me apart on the beach, stones and bottles and beercans and signs. I escaped into the sea, blood and personhood behind on the shore, and took two husbands from the deep-shelf-people. (I was kelp-cap people, accustomed to the sun and the hot flow that pulls us east and south once a year. We take human children, then, in the summer.)

They wanted to eat my human son. I took him back to the land-people as compromise.

We were not mermaids.

I've dreamed about the water people before, but they were always a bastardized ripoff of Michael Turner's people; I've heard he calls them the Blue and the Black, now, after the color of their home waters (Aspen is Blue royalty; Vana was Black--deep sea, frozen sea--royalty. I've wanted to do more with Vana for a while now.)

Vana/Aspen ftw.

"Poor child. So much you don't understand."

Anyway, always Michael Turner's before, but these, this water-woman I was now, she was my people, my original!people--the sea born antagonists of the panther sorcerers.

Research has since taught me that cat-morphs are awesome, but a lot more science than I care for. I spent two years trying to find an easy route, and switched to snake people for six months of that...

I don't talk about originals to any depth on the Internet, both because I haven't worked with them at all in just over five years, and because I don't feel like dispensing free content. At the minimum, I will have a published thesis c/o my university within the next two calendar years, and at least one more after that, and I intend to write assorted other nonfiction or nonfiction-based projects.

If it turns out that I start dragging in a decent living with the nonfiction, but none of my fiction is ever touched with a ten foot pole, then you'll start getting it for free over the Internet in serial form. *Nods.*

So, you'll probably see it all within the next four to five years, anyway. XD

I finished with a twenty-three hour day.

GASP HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE.

( I am a beast with many heads... )

The thrill of fear, now greatly enjoyed with courage

When I once was innocent
It's still here
But in different places

Almost completely closed. Sealed as much as it can be without me being dead. (It's the only one you can't totally shut.)

Everything else partially shut. One half-shut. "Have some compassion!" *Snort.*

Only one that's open and running too hard, idling too high?

Willpower. Force of will. I am somehow not surprised.

"Power addiction, force addiction, bullying behavior, narcissistic rage, wild fits of anger."

Shut up, subconscious. What do I care why he did it?

RESET.

This is what I wanna do

Click, clack, boom. *Smirk.*

I wanted to perform a hypothesis formation and check, because that would be a cool stunt for my LiveJournal, but I'm too excited. XD

Google knows what "diachronic" and "apotropaic" mean.

The Oxford College Dictionary, Second American Edition, 2002, DOES NOT.

Lollerols.

diachronic: referring to phenomena as they change over time.

apotropaic: in essence, warding off evil.

Hmmm.

Which of these words will Jheti get more mileage out of? Anyone? Best guess? XD

I had three more words I wanted the meaning of, but I do not recall...

Patristic, antinimous (which Google's ":define" command and Dictionary.com both do not recognize as a word, but which occurs on the Web itself in philosophical and similar documents), and...oh, there was one more...Feh.

I found them in this ungodly long-winded book about masks and culture.

Mileena wanted it. Sat up for the chapter about the Gorgon, but mostly ignored the book otherwise. She whined sorely about the density of the languaging.

I went in circles with it, trying to find the ends of sentences; he never stopped "talking"--his narration was exceedingly poor. No rhythm, no sense, and deeply abstruse word choice.

My collection of words is...not small. I think I went four pages before hitting three words I didn't recall ever even seeing before.

(Note also that "antinimous" and "antonymous" are not the same word, and do not appear to be RELATED words, either, and there goes my best inference as to the meaning of the mystery word.)

Kimbley has nothing to say to me, but he tends to pet the Chemical Abstracts as we go past them once or twice a day. I looked in them and it was Greek to me, as they say, but they make him grin, and don't we look smart with heavy black vinyl-sided tomes in our grip.

Lollerskates?

Mmmm, I'm going to go get my battered 1980's dictionary and compare it against the new volume, and see if it tells me what these words mean.

If it can, I will return to gloat unbearably. *Halo.*

( As a postscript, the standard dump: dreams and the RL saga that precludes them. )

THE RL SAGA: For whatever reason, my alarm clock did not go off. There goes my morning class; I have no way to get to it. I'm thus in no great hurry to catch the next bus out.