More Weird Dreams

I had this dream last night that felt like a movie, just for the cast of characters, really.  Not a whole lot happened in it.  But I wanted to describe some of these people before too much time passes (like, another 15 minutes) and I have forgotten them (at the time of writing this, I have just woken up).

It was the early 1950s, and I lived in what appeared to be this small rural area where there were several houses all in a clump, so there were several families right around mine.  We lived on a farm, but the house part was right on this little dirt road, and across this road, sort of diagonal to us, lived Liam Neeson (not really him, just, for some reason, played by him), who had a huge family.  There were so many kids, I could never quite get an accurate count of them, but not for lack of trying.  Liam had a nagging wife, who did in fact love him, but she nagged.  I found her pretty annoying, myself.  To be fair, she didn’t always nag; she was just nagging at this moment.  It was Thanksgiving, you see, and all the families were preparing dinner inside.  My family (who pretty much looked and acted exactly like my real family) was inside making ours, and I’d been helping all day, but just stepped outside for a short rest, and I’m on the front porch, just witnessing all this stuff that’s going on.

Liam Neeson’s kids are all running all over the place, chasing a cat, and then this other thing that looked like…well…how to describe this thing….

It had very long hair.  So long, that when it was sitting still, its hair fell all about it to make it look like a cat.  But when it ran, it looked like some mutant little thing; it still moved like a cat, but then its face looked sort of like a teddy bear, and was cream-colored and not at all cat-like, and the underside of its hair changed into tiger stripes, raccoon stripes, and speckles like a baby deer…it sort of looked like a cross between a meercat and a raccoon, I guess.

Anyway, whatever it was, it was obviously wild, and the real cat was chasing it, and as already stated, the children were chasing the cat.  So I was concerned for the children, and I called out, “Hey, kids!  Back away from that thing; it’s not a cat and it might be dangerous!”

They all stop and look up at me, and this one girl calls over, “If it’s not a cat, then what is it??”

I called back, “I’m not sure; but I know that it’s not a cat!  Just keep your distance!”

I hadn’t noticed that the people whose house was next-door to Liam Neeson’s, right next to ours, had come outside.  This pretty crabby-looking couple, he with a beard sort of like the cat’s hair, long and stringy and black, and she just short but overgrown with a face like one of those tubby fat cats.  And behind them, their son….

Now, their son was a good-looking guy.  It’s that guy Jordan who comes through my line every once in a while and whom I know likes me.  In my dream, he liked me, too—it was something I’d apparently known for a while.  I think I liked him back in my dream, but I was either playing hard to get, or I was just trying to go about things the proper way and never acknowledged that I even realized he liked me.  I don’t know; something like that.  He was behind his parents, waving and making gestures that seemed to be apologizing for what they did next.

His dad yelled, “Why are you saying our cat’s not a cat?  Just because it’s a little different-looking….  Why don’t you mind your own business; leave us and our cat alone!”

And then they went back into the house, she turning to give me one more angry glare, and slammed the door behind them.

I looked up at Jordan, who had sort of flinched at the banging of the door, and he called over, “Sorry!”  And then I heard the woman’s voice from inside, “JORDAN!  You’ve got work to do!”  He waved and dashed inside.

The kids had chased the cats back toward their house, where Liam Neeson was, at this point, on his front porch, being nagged by his wife about something, so he got up to help her out inside.  The kids were all just dancing around, running in and out, and I heard him say, “Go outside!”

I just sort of laughed and went back into my house. I came back out again to do…something…and found Liam Neeson and Jordan on Jordan’s slowly-darkening front porch, just quietly talking, Jordan sipping some sort of drink, Liam smoking a pipe…so I headed over there to ask what they were up to, and Liam said, looking up because he’d just been staring off into space, “Just enjoying the evening, dear, how are you?”

I said I was doing okay, that we were just about to eat, and I was just getting a breath of fresh air, myself.  Jordan just sort of…smiled.  So I smiled back and said, “How are you tonight, Jordan?”

He said, “Oh, fine, thanks,” and smiled more.

Then my mom came out on our porch and called, “Ginny!  Come on back; it’s all ready!”

I looked at the two of them and said, “Gotta go.”

Jordan said, “Okay, enjoy your meal!” perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, and Liam, after taking a puff on the pipe, said, “Yes, happy Thanksgiving to you and your family.”

I said, “Same to both of you,” and went inside, where everyone was there, sitting around the table, and we said grace, and then my mom, dishing potatoes out, said, “You know, I think that Jordan boy across the street may have a certain interest in you.”

I think I blushed and said, “I know, Mom.”

My dad said, “Jordan?  He’s a nice kid.  Odd parents, though.”

And that was pretty much it.  There were a few more houses around…one or two more down past Jordan’s house, and then another one on the other side of ours, across from Liam Neeson’s…but those people never came outside, so I know nothing about them.

I had another dream where I was going to be killed by this giant robed and hooded evil thing of darkness, like a Nazgul or something….

I don’t know whose house I was in; it was supposed to be ours, but looked nothing like ours (I was on the second story, and we don’t have one of those), and this thing had reached out its hand to me and a very low, loud voice came out of it:  “There is no escape”, it said; and it was just coming for me, and I remember it being more frightening than anything I had ever seen….

Well, whatever it was, wherever I was, Milo was with me, and the thing was going to get both of us, even though, whatever it was that was going on, I knew it was my fault, that I had called it there, straight out of Hell or wherever it had come from, and I stood up in front of him and yelled at the thing, “NO!  Leave him alone; it’s me you want!  He hasn’t done anything; let him go!”

Milo refused to leave, but I told him he must go away, that I must truly fear for my life, but that with him there, I only feared for his, and that if he did not go away, he risked not only his life, but also my soul.  I assured him that his leaving was my only hope of surviving the night.  So he left.

And so I feared.  This thing looked at me (I guess; not like I could really see a face) and said, “I will kill you before the night is through. T here is no escape.  You will not survive.”

Nothing had ever creeped me out so much just by its presence.  Nothing.  That’s how scary this thing was.

And then dawn came, and I remember seeing the light through the window and looking at the thing and thinking, “I’m still alive!” and it disappeared.

So I got up and ran outside, and Milo was right at the front door waiting for me.M

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Oh, For The Love Of Thursday

Have I expressed my deep, deep love for Thursday nights?  For whatever reason, unbeknownst to me, he chooses not to leave the house on Thursday nights—perhaps she is working or something—and so tonight, once again, I got to hang with him in his room, just the two of us, he sitting in the chair, and I stretched across his bed with my head on his pillow and inhaling that intoxicating conglomeration of scents which make up his bedroom—spicy cinnamon candles, old romantic garage boxes, that sexy, sexy aroma that clings to him after he steps out of the shower…ohh, siiiiiiighhh….

We were watching TV when he said, “You know…the other day, I was thinking about The Lion King….”  And he sort of trailed off.

I said, “Yeah?”

He said, “Well, in a pride, isn’t there generally only one male?”

“Yeah.”

“So…Mufasa birthed Simba…but if he was the only male in the pride, doesn’t that mean he must have birthed Nala, too?”

*brief silence*

EWWWWW!” I said.

“Yeah.  That’s what I thought, too.  I actually came up with the theory a long time ago, but I was just thinking about it again the other day.”

The Lion King is screwed up, yo.

Oh, I have to share this.  The other day we were walking through my neighborhood, up and down the sidewalks, and around that little street that I have only ever been through with him, and he was singing “Fly Me to the Moon” in his best Sinatra voice (which is honestly pretty good)…just because I said I had it stuck in my head.

So there we were, just walking up the sidewalk, and he’s singing Sinatra, and it looks for all the world like a scene out of an old movie in black-&-white, and he’s sung the first couple of lines:

“Fly me to the moon; let me play among the stars;

Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars.

In other words—”

And then he stopped, just looked at me and said, “How’s it go after that?”

And I recall looking back into his eyes, heart racing swiftly along, and saying softly, “In other words, hold my hand…in other words, baby, kiss me….”

He just looked at me for the slightest of imperceptible seconds, then said, “Oh, yeah,” and picked up from where he’d left off.

It seemed like the sort of thing I’d have dreamt, but I didn’t; this actually happened.  And for this reason, “Fly Me to the Moon” shall forevermore be my favorite Sinatra song.

I’m going to leave off there tonight, just because it’s such a blissful-sounding place to close.

Inside the Daily Prophet

I have to share this site I discovered.  It’s called myNoise and it lets you play ambient sounds to help you focus or relax or whatever you want.  There are so many different sounds available and you can combine them to make new ones!

Last night I was trying to write a scene that takes place inside the Daily Prophet, and I went to this site to find something to help me focus.  I used three different sounds to basically create the inside of the Daily Prophet.

First I took Cafe/Restaurant and turned down all the clinking dishes and all other noises but the voices.

I then added Factory (or Industrial Revolution–it seems to have two names) to add the sounds of a printing press.

Lastly, I added Fireworks and turned most of them down to low, sporadic blasts, to give the illusion of wands occasionally producing spells.

It’s so perfect.  Exactly what I would expect that environment to sound like.  I’m never writing without this site again!  I’m going to continue creating environments for every scene I want to write.  I highly recommend this to every writer and will definitely be donating in the future.

A Work Tale

Tonight at work, Tinny and I were serving like usual, and this hot guy who I ’d never seen before came through the line.  When he got to me, I was dishing something onto his plate, when he said, “Jones?”

Remember that time a hot guy coming through the line asked if I was Lesley Jones’s daughter, and he ended up being somebody who works with her?  Yeah.  I remembered that immediately, but when this guy said, “Jones?” like that, I looked up at him sharply, wondering how in the hell this guy could possibly know my last name.  Did there just happen to be two hot guys coming through my line who work with my mom?

I said, “Yeah…how did you know that?”

His response, which was difficult to hear over the sneezeguards, included the word “sister” in it somewhere.

“What?” I said.

He said, “You’re Ginny, right?” leaning over to take a better look at my nametag.

“Yeah…” I said, still with nary a clue of who he was.

“I live in your neighborhood,” he said.

I must have looked clueless as I pondered this.  I’d noted that he had a slight Hispanic look to him, so I briefly wondered if he was related to that Jaime jerk that Psychobrat used to hang out with.  (This may be an unfair statement; I don’t really know if Jaime was a jerk, or if I only considered him to be such because he hung out with her; he may have stopped hanging out with her because he wasn’t a jerk.  But regardless….)

He said, “The Valley…right?”

I said, “Yeah…?”

He just looked at me, and I said, “I’m sorry; what’s your name?”

He said, “T.J.”

I continued to look at him skeptically as I thought, “I know a T.J, but this isn’t him.”

And then something in his eyes just…flashed at me, and I said, “OHH……..T.J.!

He laughed, and I laughed, too, thinking what an idiot I was, and I said, “I had no idea!  I didn’t even recognize you!  How have you been?  It’s been forever since I saw you last!”

I was completely wrong with all of my ponderings throughout this whole thing.  T.J. is in no way a jerk, nor has he ever been.  Their family has always been nice; and I have known them longer than any other people in Jacksonville, as we met them the day we moved in.  But since we’re no longer on the same street, I don’t see them as much…so I think it actually has been a couple years since I’d seen him.  He just looks…older.  And still hot as ever.

I actually haven’t had very detailed dreams lately; at least, not much that I can remember.  I was telling Milo that all my dreams this week had been of me or one of our friends going to a different country, and I said, “Wonder who’s going to go out of the country tonight,” and he laughed and said, “It’s going to be somebody different every night, and then watch, I’ll end up in some stupid place like Quebec.  You’ll see me standing there in front of a road sign that reads ‘Quebec,’ and I’ll be shouting up into the sky, ‘QUEBEC!?  YOU COULDN’T DREAM UP A BETTER PLACE THAN QUEBEC!?”  Tehehehe.

I’ve decided to skip all classes tomorrow, just because I haven’t missed any this semester, and to, first of all, sleep in, and then do homework and possibly go to the doctor.  So if you’re reading this in Journalism, then yes, know that I premeditated this!  I knew before class that I was not going to be there!  MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!

…Um…don’t let our professor see this, please….

Kings, Fingers, Wings, and Winks

My mom’s cousin traced our history all the way back to 80 A.D.!  I can’t get over how cool that is.  I am skeptical and would like to check her work for myself, but supposedly we’re descended from several kings, among them famous ones like Longshanks (the bad guy in Braveheart) and Malcolm and Duncan of Scotland (the basis for the enemies of Macbeth in the play).

I’m reading various Tolkien things right now, and in the book that I’m in right now, he made a mention of Aethelred II (a Viking who was king of what is now England in the late 900s), and I realized—“Hey!  That’s one of my grandfathers!”  It’s fascinating to be reading something like that and come across names of people you’re descended from, no matter how long ago they lived.

Tonight at work, we had chicken tenders, and we were having this new pre-shift meeting we have to have every night that management is there, wherein the chefs explain to every worker except the dishwashers what is on the menu…and Tyler said, “Chicken fingers!”  Maggie, a scary female chef (she’s really quite large and intimidating…well, not large large, just…her personality is large) said, “Not chicken fingers; chicken tenders.  Chicken tenderloins—chickens don’t have fingers,” in the big, scary man voice which is manlier than the voices of any of the men there—with the exception of Steve.

Of course, being a daredevil smartass (by which I mean that I will persist with my stupid comments, however close to death I know that they may lead me), I had to say, in a matter-of-fact voice loud enough for no one but Maggie to hear, “And buffaloes don’t have wings,” just as though it were the most logical response in the world to this remark (and to me, of course, it was).

Maggie, face taut, eyes…hard…v-e-r-y…s-l-o-w-l-y…turned to look at me, held my gaze for a moment, and then turned back to what she was doing.

Then, because I would not be content until I had actually signed my death warrant in blood, I said, in the same voice, “Well, you know…I’m just saying…they don’t.”

But then, Bob said, “Class dismissed!” so before she could look at me again, I had run out of the “classroom” cheering, hands in the air, and wildly thinking (because I was interrupted by something else before I could say it), “No more pencils, no more books….”

My history class ended 15 minutes early, so I got to sleep with my head down on the desk for half an hour waiting for Women’s Studies.  What was odd was that I could actually feel myself slipping between different stages….  I have no idea how to explain that.  It’s like I was sleeping…but then I was sleeping, and where I’d been just before that was nothing like sleep.  The level of R&R just…changed; I could feel it.  And then again when I was waking up.  I got a really good nap.

As for the rest of the day, well…none of it really compares to those parts.

Accents and Body Wash

The hot English guy has been coming into work just about every night now.  I think I can definitely say he is a UNF student.

I’d seen him before I realized he was English, and never paid him much attention; I see hundreds of hot guys every night.  But when Tinny said, “Is he English?” my ears perked up (it’s awfully hard to hear behind the line) and finally noticed the accent for the first time.

So I smiled at him flirtatiously and said, “I love your accent.”

And he just smiled back.  A sexy kind of smile; he didn’t say anything at all, but he didn’t have to.  The smile was enough.

So then he came back a couple days later, and he smiled again.  And again the next night.

And then tonight, I saw him in the line and got all excited because I’d get to listen to him speak again (even if it was only, “I’d like some garlic bread, please,” or, “May I have some vegetables?”).

He came through the line, got Salisbury steak from Tinny, and then started walking away.  This was very disappointing to me, as I hadn’t even heard him say he wanted Salisbury steak.

But then…then, as he was walking away, he stopped, turned, looked at me, smiled, and said, “Hey.”  I smiled and said hey back, and then he walked away.  How awesome is that!?  Hot English Guy turned around just to say hello to me.

😀

I had to run some errands tonight, so Milo went with me.  While standing in Winn-Dixie, we were looking at the body wash and discussing how quickly we run out in our house, and how Psychobrat likes to steal it.

And then he came up with the brilliant idea that we get our own bottle and hide it from her.  We joked about coming up with a secret hiding place somewhere in the house where no one would think to look.  He said, “So…pick something.”

I looked at all the bottles (you know how bad I am with decisions) and said, “I…can’t!”

He said, “All right, I’ll pick something,” and then he couldn’t, either.  So we started smelling them.  And then we stepped back to take them all in again…and then we both reached for the same bottle.

So we each got one, and are hiding them in our own separate locations.

Daily Nightmares and a Cheery Milo Tale

I stayed up late last night studying for my history test today, and then I went to the library after my first class and fell asleep in a chair.  I almost didn’t wake up in time—I woke up four minutes before the class started.  That would’ve been great, eh?  Sleep through the test I stayed up all night studying for.  Yeah.  But all in all, I think I did pretty well.  Okay, at least.  We’ll see.

At about 4:00 today, I had just gotten in my car to go to work, when Milo pulled up.  He waved from his car, and I from mine; then, once I’d gotten situated with seat belt, CD, and sunglasses and all, he was walking through the yard, and he turned around and looked at me.

He smiled.

It’s not an unusual thing for him to smile; no, of course not.  But there was something about this smile that was so warm and touching…and plus, he’d bothered to stop and turn around, when I might not even have been looking, much less still actually sitting there in the driveway.

I, of course, smiled back as brightly.

I know I get too excited and worked up over the smallest things, but…just…that smile….  Well, it just made it appear that he was actually thinking about me.  And it was so like the sort of smile that I would have given him, that for the briefest moment—only a split second’s amount of time—my heart leaped, and I thought, “Oh—he loves me!”

Of course, I instantly plummeted back to reality, as this idea made no sense whatsoever.  …He loves me not.

It was still a great smile.

I have a story about the dog today.  Always a pleasure.  I’m in the living room before work, standing right by the couch and flipping through stations with the remote, not even aware that the dog is in the room.

Suddenly, the dog bites my ankle.

I look down, and it’s sitting there all hunched over, teeth bared, the way it always gets when it’s protecting some sort of food item (which is nearly always something it’s not supposed to be eating, anyway).  Sure enough, it’s got something.  A Baby Ruth bar.  In its wrapper.

Putting aside the fact that chocolate kills dogs…it was in its wrapper!  What did it expect to do with the thing!?  Our dog has serious issues.

Speaking of animals with serious issues…I’ve got a Psychobrat story today.

She’s got this really-super-annoying alarm clock that’s really loud, and it goes off at…3?  I think it’s 3.  For no reason.  This morning, it woke Brother up.  After lying there for about an hour of it annoying him, and him not being able to go back to sleep, he finally got up at what he said was around 4, went into her room and asked her to turn it off, and found her lying on her bed watching TV.  She was completely ignoring the alarm clock.  Brother asked her to please turn it off, and she groaned, “Ohh…fine,” like it was a chore, and did.  She has no common regard for anyone at all.  I’d say I don’t understand people like her, but there are no people like her…she stands alone in her obtuseness.

So Brother decided to complain to my dad.

My dad acted like he saw no problem whatsoever and told Brother to “just ignore it”.  He couldn’t ask Psychobrat to just not let her alarm clock run for hours at a time at 3 in the morning and wake people up, even though she’s already wide awake and has only to reach over and push a button!?

Thus ends this segment of Daily Nightmares of the House of Jones.