I watched Friends and Lovers last night.  Not a movie one can take at all seriously--most of the characters were annoying, stupid, or both--but even if it were I couldn't have, because every time Mr. Downey's character came on screen I started laughing hysterically.  Before he had any dialogue, even. 

Despite character similarities to Hugo Pool, he really reminded me far more of Val Kilmer in The Saint, of which I am very fond.  The latter's a much better film, though. 

On an unrelated note, it's such a waste to dream of waiting for a bus.  Though the milkweed was fun. 

I just had a very long and involved dream (day nap dreams are often the most vivid) involving cats, cat food, elaborate jewelry, abused Victorian urchins, swimming pools containing seals and whales, house parties, a dead black bear, amusement park rides, musicals and actresses, and a cockatoo with cookies.  It ended with Tony Stark trying to convince me, very somberly, that I had to read more of the tragic "classic" fiction I so loathe (hey, brain, Heart of Darkness is not set in Tibet, and you read it in college, not high school) so I could write better fanfiction.  And then there was hail, to prove I didn't understand California autumns.  

He may even have been right, but I refuse to read that stuff.  

I just (finally) watched the 200th episode. 

...Wha? 


Also.  Mr. Robert Downey Jr., I admire your acting talent and your determination, but please stay out of my dreams.  Especially if you're going to bring along a Sheltie.  *sniffle*  I miss my Fuzzy-butt.  

Last night I dreamed of tidal waves, cliffs, churches, salt and ice, and Dale Midkiff.  Also that I was dreaming, which was disorienting when I thought myself to be awake anyway. 

My latest plot bunny is running in my veins like a virus, and the only thing keeping me from working on it at my lunch break is the fact that if I start I probably won't be able to stop.  Well, that and it's probably going to be NC-17, muse willing, and this is a work computer.  It's not letting me work on PK or anything else, which could be a problem given that I haven't finished the next chapter yet, but I suppose I could take a week off if I had to.  I'm hoping I can get this one done by Sunday, at least in rough draft. 

It's an odd piece.  Much more angsty than I usually do, particularly for this fandom, and it is very defined--I know what's to happen, it's just a matter of getting the characters there.  The thing is, it's full of emotion, and I keep looking at what I've written and wondering where the heck it's all coming from, because I haven't experienced anything remotely like what I'm putting Pepper through.  More so than usual, that is.  

This sort of push from a story is rare, and I love it even as I grumble about it.  I wrote almost three thousand words yesterday, which is more than what I'd push for during NaNoWriMo, and I stopped only because I ran out of time. 

I don't even know if people will like this one, and it'll probably be a while before I post it.  But just to write it is a joy all its own. 

I just woke up from a nap wherein I was dreaming, and to save the parentheses, I'm going to footnote this Robin McKinley-style.

Among many other things, I dreamed that my father was a government official* important enough to have Secret Service protection^. My mother and brother and I were out in the rain with a crowd of them† all holding umbrellas over us‡. My brother and I were amused because my father had done some cute joke for my mother's birthday§☛, and we took great enjoyment in telling a naive Secret Service agent☂ about how Madeleine Albright's husband☎ wrote suggestive messages on her birthday cakes✈.

You have no idea how much I wish the last part were real.




* He was.
^ He wasn't.
† Does anybody besides the President get a crowd for their whole family?
‡ You can't actually do that with umbrellas.
§ Which he has.
☛ It's a long story involving balloons, a clown, and people dressed up as gorillas. It was hilarious.
☂ No such thing!
☎ They're divorced.
✈ Sheet cakes, apparently.

Finding myself in some dream version of Half Magic wasn't so odd as the realization, upon waking, that I actually don't own a single E. Nesbit book aside from Melisande and possibly The Book of Dragons. *frown* This is definitely untoward. It has been far too many years since I read her stuff.

In lighter news, I made my elderly dignified cat do the scratch-at-air thing that one usually only manages when rubbing a doggie belly.  Always amusing!

Last night I dreamed a crossover, with a reluctant romance between Sofia Curtis and a terminally ill Dr. McCoy. 

My brain has gone beyond weird. 

I dreamed a lot last night, some of it more pleasant than other parts, but I must admit that dreaming I was David Hodges was...disconcerting.  To say the least.  

I dreamed this afternoon of CSI:Miami--of Horatio and Calleigh getting together.  Oddly enough.  He bought her a huge, beautiful Jacuzzi-style bathtub to prove his affection. 

My brain is weird. 

I never seem to be able to write much on weekends.  Other things (like sleep) take my time and attention.  It's a pity, because when else do I have such large time spaces, but that's how it seems to work. 

On the other hand, dreaming about NCIS--three shows in three days, what IS my brain coming to--isn't exactly productive either... 

I've no objection to the show "Shark".  If I were into pseudo-amoral characters*, I'd probably enjoy it, for the snark if nothing else. 

But dreaming that I am the main character is just disturbing.  Plus, why does my brain waste time on that when I could be dreaming about Goren instead?  Sheesh, no sense of priorities up here. 


*Avon doesn't count.  He sets the standard that all others have so far failed to achieve. 

I spent a large part of today asleep.  It was a good thing.  I enjoy dreaming, most of the time. 

A couple of nights ago I dreamed about the family reunion/memorial gathering I'll be attending in a few weeks.  Various relations were there, though those cousins aren't that young, and it was technically my grandparents' house but certainly wasn't any of the houses I've ever seen them in.  My grandfather wasn't there--made sense, it's his memorial--but, oddly, my grandmother was, and she's been dead, oh, about six years now (going on seven). 

I think the sharpest moment of the dream was when I looked out a back window in the house and inhaled the fresh air coming in, and it was sharp and vivid with the scent of pines, even though there were none around that house.  My grandparents' last house was in the Sierra Nevadas, and the area was thick with pines.  I'd put in the coordinates for Google Earth, but the picture is too blurry. 

I can hardly wait to go.  I yearn for California, and I haven't been in a few years.  It will only be a few days, but I'll savor every second. 

And my brother and sister-in-love, those brilliant people, rented a convertible for the trip.  Guess who I'm riding with.  :P 

Well, dreaming about being late for work is better than dreaming about being late for class, since I haven't actually taken a class in almost ten years.  But I know where that image of Grissom smooth-cheeked came from.  Is the rumor that Mr. Petersen's shaved off his beard true?

I find it fascinating that after a night of dreams of shopping, arguing, murder and madness, actors and sunsets and cars, the one common thread throughout all of them was a 1G flash drive that I saw was on sale at Microcenter. 

My cold has got the better of me, so the next chapter of HTTM will probably be late this afternoon or this evening, or possibly tomorrow. I do apologize, but at the moment all I want to do is go back to bed.

...Maybe I can dream some more about that AU academy where one of the literature studies is the unresolved GSR...yeah, I'm out of it!