maradydd: (Default)
Well, I just had my first dream (partially) in Flemish. That I can remember, anyway.

It even sort of made sense, though I'm pretty sure at least part of it was my brain screwing with me. I was going to lunch at a little outdoor cafe with [ profile] enochsmiles' advisor Bart; we sat down and joined another man and woman about Bart's age. We started eating the salad, which had a lot of shredded orange vegetables in it; Bart held some up on his fork and asked "Wat zijn deze?" (What are these?) I replied, "Ik denk dat die zijn wortels." (I think those are carrots.) The other man said, "Nee, die zijn uitbroccoli." (No, those are 'uitbroccoli'.)

As far as I know, 'uitbroccoli' is not a word. 'Uit' is a pretty multipurpose word -- it can be an adverb or a preposition, and also appears in words like 'uitgezonderd', which means 'except' but as far as I can tell has an idiomatic meaning. So I have no idea what my brain thinks 'uitbroccoli' would be.

The rest of the dream was in English, and involved a bicycle race that was partially scored on how many balloons along the course you could pop with a dart gun, and eyedrops that made it possible to fly.
maradydd: (Default)
Via Jeff Atwood at Coding Horror, The C Programming Language by Brian W Kernighan and Dennis M Ritchie and HP Lovecraft. My favourite part:
I had heard tales of the... thing that C.A.R. Hoare had summoned up in '62– dark hints of choosing one element from an array, and partitioning the rest into lesser and greater sets, and hellishly recursing until the data were twisted into a sorted list– but nothing I could have imagined would be in any way comparable to the daemoniac, blasphemous reality that I saw.
I think any second-semester sophomore encountering quicksort for the first time knows exactly how the narrator feels.

Unrelatedly, was woken by the postman this morning from a dream in which I was giving a talk about error-correcting codes, failures in spoken communication, and formality of register, at a feminist conference (!), using the OSI network stack as an analogy (!!). I had just got through the obvious parts about how explicit, simple protocols and robust error-correction at the application layer reduce misinterpretation (for some reason, my example for that was a bingo game), but when the protocol has no built-in error correction and can be fragmented, the rate of confusion rises (I think where I was going with that was some kind of analogy between natural language and fragmented IP datagrams), but then the doorbell woke me up.
maradydd: (Default)
I have discovered that [ profile] enochsmiles not only talks but in fact sings in his sleep. He's been going on for about fifteen minutes now; most of the speech, and all of the singing, is fairly muttery and incoherent, but audible phrases have included "Very green," "I can't follow you," "You can't multiply those," and "I don't have the butter." He rambles for a while, shuts up for about a minute, and then he's at it again.

I just woke him up to share this discovery with him, and now I am going to try to get to sleep faster than he does. If not, I hope I can remember where I put those disposable earplugs.
maradydd: (Default)
(I should preface this with the fact that I've been really sick lately.)

I was over visiting someone I kind of knew and going through her DVD collection, which included all eight DVDs of some anime I'd heard about and downloaded songs from, but never actually seen. It had some completely nonsensical name in English ("Bride of Darkness", I think) which I knew wasn't the proper translation from the Japanese, but I knew what it was about: a girl who was a singer and sang just for the joy of it, and all her adventures as she starts a garage band with a friend and all the ups and downs they have navigating today's music business. I started watching the first DVD on a computer monitor, set up at a desk a lot like the desk I had at Leo's place.

The dream blipped, and then I was watching along with [ profile] madandrew and [ profile] cearalaith and some other people, sitting on a hardwood floor in a house I didn't recognize. I was making jokes at the screen, like when the bishonen musician character kissed the main character and later she made the blushing remark to someone else, "Oh, he's not my boyfriend," I added in her voice "We just kiss passionately a lot. Sometimes we fuck." ([ profile] madandrew threw a pillow at me and said "That was excessive.") Then round about episode 3 I noticed that I was in the anime.

Somehow, the main character and her guy were up in the high Arctic, but the earth was a lot smaller, spread out below them like a globe, and everything was all crystalline blue and white. She started singing some song about the ice, and it led into some other song about Europe below, and how from there it looked like it was all laid out into a "Europlaza". I started adding background vocals, and by the time the song was over, we were all back in this girl's garage. They complimented me on my singing, and I said I really enjoyed it and wanted to get back into music. I mentioned that I'd been meaning to learn how to play keyboards again, and the guy (who at that point looked remarkably like Steve Altsman) said "I'm sure you could do it if you tried." I was standing in front of an old mirror, and made some remark about "I'm sure you're right, that's been the case pretty often lately." I checked myself out in the mirror, and because I was wearing a crop top, I noticed that I had abs. Really, really well-built abs. "Holy shit!" I said. "I guess all those situps have been working!" My surprisingly ripped body and I decided to go to the pool at the apartment complex where I was living and swim some laps in the pool, so we took off.

I got to the pool and was already wearing a purple bathing suit, so I guess I must have changed clothes in the dream or something. I took off my glasses, watch and jewelry and left them on a table that someone had vacated, and dived into the shallow end even though I wasn't supposed to. Some large, well-built guy who looked remarkably like Hulk Hogan jumped in too, and he got bitched at but I didn't.

I started to do the backstroke across the pool, and as I did I noticed that a lot of people were paying attention to another woman backstroking. Her name was Susan Cox and she'd been recruited by the apartment complex for their competition swim team (?!) because she was a renowned swimmer, but someone commented that they were really disappointed in her performance because her form was bad. She needed to be throwing her shoulders into it more. I took that to heart and started using my shoulders more, and got to the wall very fast.

At the wall I flipped around and started to stroke back. Through some mechanism which I fail to understand, the popularity of my webcomic (which I evidently had started) on some comics site was linked to how fast I was swimming, so I swam like hell. At first it was a struggle and I started to lose ranking, but I swam even harder and saw my comic's popularity go up and up in the standings. (All this commentary was animated like something on Cartoon Network. It was very vivid and these words aren't doing it justice.) By the time I finished, people were calling me up to give me advice on how I could get my comic out faster in order to satisfy my hordes of fans.

I got out of the pool but I didn't have a towel, so to dry off I walked around it the long way. There was a building on the far side of the pool. When I got over there, I saw that the building had no back wall, and wasn't actually a building, just two walls about five feet apart and no roof. John was in there, covered in dust and sitting next to some clay that might have been a half-finished sculpture. As I walked past him I quietly sang out, "Fuck you."

"You too," he whispered, glaring at me.

"Any time you're ready," I whispered back, still walking on. Something lit up in his eyes, and I added, "...Sucker."

He looked totally crestfallen, and held out his arms. I stopped. He came up to me, and put his arms around me, and tried to explain that he was sorry, that he wanted to try again, &c. The dialogue got kind of unclear at this point, but it ended with me shaking my head and walking away.

The last bit of the dream was laid out like two panels of a comic book. The first panel showed a teacher in a classroom, reciting lines from Yeats' "The Second Coming" as John and I take notes in the front row:
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are filled with passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The second panel shows me from a left rear three-quarter view; John is visible three-quarter front behind me. I look down at the upturned palm of my left hand and murmur, "I wonder what it might mean?" John looks on, with an expression of concern and despair.

And then the dream ended.
maradydd: (Default)
I have to go take a look at the place where, with luck, I'll be living next semester, but I wanted to get this down first.

I dreamed that I wanted to get a haircut, so I went to a salon downtown that I'd been told was really good. For some reason Troy ([ profile] halax) was with me, though he didn't say much. We went in and I sat down with the stylist they'd assigned me, who started asking me all manner of off-the-wall questions -- mostly "how would you react in this sort of situation" questions. She explained that from my answers, she'd be able to determine the hairstyle that most accurately reflected who I was inside, and it would be perfect for me. But I couldn't come up with very many answers to her questions.

I was able to describe the cut I wanted, but I was a bit nervous about actually getting it. (This isn't new. I have a long history of liking various hairstyles on other people, trying them on myself, and finding out that they just don't work on me.) So Troy volunteered to be a test subject, since he was going to be getting a buzzcut again in the near future.

The dream fast-forwarded a bit. Troy and I were now in his dad's car; his dad was driving. My hair was the same, and he had that haircut, which looked really stupid on him. He was a little upset, and wasn't any less upset when I asked "But weren't you going to get a buzzcut anyway?"

After I woke up, I thought, "Of course it looked stupid on him. That was my haircut, not his!"
maradydd: (Default)
First weird dream in a really long time.

I was living with my mother and Lindsay in a small apartment in a complex rather like the one where I live when I'm at home with Colin. I don't know where my dad or Britt were. Anyway, we had DSL, on a small PC that was set up in the living room, and for some reason she got pissed off about something that happened with the computer and took all the phone cables away. Then she went out for a while, leaving me and Lindsay alone. I found some old telephones right outside, and it was easy to cannibalize some RJ-45-jacked cable from them to connect from the DSL modem to the wall. I hid the phone cord -- it was a long one composed of several smaller cords connected together with modular jacks -- after removing from the chain a cord that would be just long enough to reach from the modem to the wall.

"But, duh," I thought after I'd gone back into my room. "If she has any brains at all she'll have removed the modem itself and I'll have to find a new one." So I went and looked, and the DSL modem was still there, attached to the printer. (?) Which kind of made sense, because my mom is not my dad, and knows absolutely fuckall about how computers work.

But then I got worried, because I realized that the phone I'd grabbed the cords from had been one of ours, and somebody was returning it. And for some reason it seemed like a really difficult ordeal to get the cords replaced in such a way that no one would notice.

I gave up and helped Lindsay with her laundry instead.

Colin, hurry up and get here, okay? I don't have bizarre dreams when I'm in bed with you.
maradydd: (Default)
Two in one night, though not so vivid as before.

First, I dreamed that it turned out that my grandmother, who I believed had died when I was in the eighth grade, was in fact still alive and had been living in my parents' house all this time. I spoke to her in the dream. She looked much older than I remember her, which of course makes sense since that was twelve years ago. Her hair was whiter, and her skin reminded me of paper. I was pretty upset, because come on, that was four years I'd lived there, never once seeing her, thinking she was dead. She said that she really hadn't enjoyed it either, but I still felt like the butt of some huge, morbid joke.

Then I dreamed that Colin and I were at an anime convention in the same town we lived in. (I wasn't sure whether it was here, Houston, or someplace else, though.) Opening ceremonies took place in an auditorium, and there were already a lot of people in costume; not us, though. "Damn," I said. "I wish I'd finished all the repairs on your plugsuit. I bet if I stayed up pretty late, I could finish it tonight and we could wear them in the cosplay tomorrow."

"No, I'm not interested," he said.

"Well, yeah, it'd be a lot of work," I said. "But don't you have a blue suit jacket? I bet we could throw a Kaji costume together no problems. And a Kaji-Asuka skit would be easy to put together."

But he just said "No, I don't want to."

I woke up realising that wasn't the sort of thing Colin would say; it's the sort of thing John would say, especially after I'd already gone through tremendous amounts of work to put something together.

I am putting my subconscious on notice. If it is going to give me a dream about my man, it damn well better be a dream about MY man, not an ex wearing his skin.

I cannot fucking wait until Tuesday.
maradydd: (Default)
Tonight I woke up around 3 AM from another really vivid nightmare.

This time I was on Mars with Russ, Caroline, Jacob, and some people they knew (some of whom I know I've seen in Dallas, but just don't remember). Mars was pretty thoroughly colonised by this point, but it hadn't been terraformed yet. So we were in this restaurant, and I was extremely nervous about something, but I wasn't quite sure what. All four of us, plus the collection of acquaintances who kept coming and going, were seated at a large booth; I stayed curled up in the corner of the booth next to the wall. Caroline had either a katana or a zatoichi -- it was hard to tell from the angle -- and she raised it high over her head like she was going to plunge it down into me. I rolled away at the last second and she just tapped me with it, and I knew she would have done that in the first place.

Shortly thereafter, an argument broke out at a table nearby, and a horde of black-suited men with guns stormed in. We decided to cut out, and escaped into the adjoining mall. The place was super-ritzy and completely empty, because it was closed. Somehow, the four of us got separated, and I was left wandering around in uncomfortable shoes, trying to find my way back to someplace I recognised.

I walked up a wide flight of stairs to a set of brass-fitted doors. A blonde woman in a black blazer, skirt and sunglasses was waiting there. Outside it was pitch dark, and I could hear wind howling. No way to go outside; this was Mars, after all. "Oh. Sorry," I said, and turned to leave.

"You can't call me that," she said, and started following me.

The loudest sound I could hear was my uncomfortable shoes going click-click-click on the marble floors as I ran from this inexplicably angry woman, through corridors and open plazas, knowing that I was in an enclosed space and couldn't lose her. Then I heard someone shout "Meredith!", and I turned to look. It was Jacob, blue striped polo shirt and all. I ran to him, kissed him, and said "We have to get out of here." So we ran together toward another exit; outside this one, it was light. We opened the door and headed outside; apparently dream physics had changed, because it was warm outside and we could breathe. There was a long wall to the left of us, and the side of the building extended forward on our right for a few hundred yards, so we were basically in an alley. At the end of the alley, two blonde-haired people -- a man and a woman who looked like fraternal twins -- were talking, and as we got closer, they moved apart as if they were going to try to block our exit. But they didn't, so we ran out onto the street and kept going.

I wouldn't mind how little sense these dreams make if they weren't so realistic that they wake me up.


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