I haven't been writing down my dreams lately.  Or written anything.  More depression maybe.  Dunno.

Had a crazy dream though.  Woman in a bad place in her life, had just lost a child, wakes at home to the sound of a baby crying.  At first she thinks it's just her imagination but eventually she walks, in a daze, down the hall to the nursery she hasn't had the nerve to step into since the accident.  Lying there is a baby, glowing with a faintly reddish inner-light, but otherwise in all ways perfect.  Something in her snaps then and she picks up the child and begins to comfort it as if it were her own.  The glow fades.

Days pass.  She is caring for the child as if it were her own.

...well, long story short, she has several close calls and angry run-ins with people and, unbeknownst to her, at least at first, reality warps and things happen to protect her and the child.  Eventually people in suits start showing up at her door asking questions.  Following her.  Waiting outside her home. 

She grows fearful, paranoid.  When she arrives at work to drop off some paperwork, the child in tow, and sees the people in suits waiting, she panics and runs.  They're in the lobby.  She turns and goes back up to a higher floor.  They follow, eventually cornering her and asking her to turn over the child.  She backs away from them, clutching the child protectively.  When one agent makes a move towards her she stumbles backwards and crashes through a window, falling to the street below.

Reality warps.  

When she comes to she is lying on the sidewalk, curled protectively around the child.  She seems to be unhurt.  The street is in chaos.  Cars are overturned.  There are several bodies laying here and there.  Everything within 20' of her appears to have been thrown violently back.  The people in suits are once again approaching her but this time a woman is speaking to her.  She tells her that it's not really her child, that she has to let go for everyone's sake.  Looking around, dazedly, at the scene around her on the street, she allows the child to be lifted from her arms.  Once again it glows with that reddish inner-light.  The suited woman carries the child at arms length and places it into a clear box inscribed with a number of runes.  Once inside we see the child begin to squirm uncomfortably, it's tail lashing from side to side.

The woman is helped up off the sidewalk and escorted to a nearby ambulance.  A couple of the suited people can be overheard talking, 

"Thank god we got here in time."

"I know, this one was close.  They just keep trying to break through."

Time travel and parallel worlds...

I'm almost entirely certain that this morning's dream was inspired by the latest episode of Doctor Who... but that's ok.

I should have written this down just after waking.  Now it's just fragments.

There was a basement workshop (I didn't recognize the place).  In it, there was a large machine that could open up portals to other times and other places.  A group of us had snuck in to use it to fix the past somehow.  I remember I was trying to save someone.  It needed one person to reset the breakers and another to throw the recall lever that would reopen the wormhole and allow us to return.  I think it also needed something from that time to allow it to properly "aim".

I've always hated dreaming while sick.

I've been feeling generally out of sorts for the last week then today, despite the soothing sounds of the falling rain, I just couldn't get comfortable or relax. It took me a while to fall asleep.

So in the dream I was a docent leading a tour in a very odd museum. There were dinosaur bones and signed guitars, african tribal decorations and 70's television stars on display in glass habitats. At some point, an alarm started going off. I abandoned my tour group and went running to find the source. I ended up in a maze of halls with a number of people running and screaming endlessly. Apparently we had a living, giant-sized, great white shark on display. It had broken through the glass of it's exhibit (there was no water for some reason) and it was flopping down the hallways, trying to catch the panicked visitors. Someone then pulled me aside to say that we needed to evacuate the building.

So I tried. I really did. And somewhere along the way a fire broke out too. But, aside from those screaming people outside the shark's exhibit, I was unable to grab anyone's attention. The moment they turned away, they seemed to forget all about the emergency and went right back to whatever they were doing. So I ran outside to the firemen who were attaching their trucks and to the animal control people who were tying together a really big net. I shouted at them, frantically, saying "help! there are people inside that won't listen and won't come out!" but they just replied "we know, and it's so sad".

So I went back inside, went to the food court (yes, for some reason the museum had a full mall foodcourt), and ordered an ice cream cone. The guy behind the counter asked me why I looked so sad. So I told him what was going on and that I hadn't been able to save anyone. He was astonished and asked why I hadn't come to him sooner. Motioning for me to follow, he opened a door in the back of his little shop and led me down a short flight of stairs. They led to a small garage with a large covered object in the center taking up most of the room. With a flourish, he pulled the the cover aside to reveal an ostentatiously decorated ice cream truck that looked like it had perhaps been covered with glue and driven through a mardi gras parade. It had streamers and kazoos and beaded jewelry and all manner of other party favors covering every single inch.

He slid behind the wheel and motioned for me to climb in the back. He fired up the engine and I started turning a large crank set in one wall to operate the music. Together we slowly drove around the outside of the museum and damned if people didn't start flooding outside, looking for the truck. We ended up saving nearly everyone (except for one guy who was disappointed we ran out of rocky road and went back inside).

It's been a while, hasn't it?

I'm still alive. Sort of.

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I dozed off at work for a wee bit last night and had a rather amusing dream. I was driving by a park and happened to look over to see tigers, for lack of a better word, frolicking on the playground equipment. They were climbing the rope nets, swinging on swings, sliding down slides; all the while seeming to have a wonderful time.

And yet, on the side of the playground, just at the edge of the sandpit where the concrete stops, there were two children staring with large, mournful eyes. Maybe they were afraid to go near the tigers, maybe they were just thinking of what they were missing out on. After all, how do you tell a tiger politely that they're hogging all the fun?

~ RL.

I had a dream last week that I really should have written down. Now the regrets have started floating in.

As is true with all dreams that have been left out for too long, it's started to evaporate from my mind in the warm summer air.

I was myself, lying awake in my room late at night. The computer screen was on and was filling up with IM message windows, each one heralded with a tiny electronic ping as they beat out a steady rythm over the sound of the tv. The evening news was on, telling of all the wars and mindless deaths, spewing governmental lies clouded over with meaningless hollywood jargon.

I felt sick. I could feel the world decaying around me and I was fading along with it. I had to escape.

I began to pull boxes from my closet, stuffing each one in turn and piling them on my bed until the precarious mound towered overhead (a strange feat seeing as how I have an 8' ceiling).

Then I began to eat.

I picked up a box in each hand and began to consume them one by one. Size and shape didn't seem to matter, I swallowed them all whole. I could taste the contents of each box as I did so. I savored the rich memories and emotions as they all came back to me and with each one I felt more vibrant, more alive. And with each box, I grew. Slowly my head cleared the roof of the house and then the treeline. I kept eating. The world was taking shape before me. I could see the colors again; the life inherent in everything around me. I was looking at the same neighborhood, city, valley and state that I saw everyday but this time, I could feel that sense of awe and wonder returning. I just had to take it all in. I was seeing everything again like it was for the first time. The way the leaves fell from the trees, their reds and browns swirling together in deeps drifts of color. I could see water trickling down from the mountaintops, collecting in pools and streams to feed life into the world below. And most of all, I saw the people; each of them living their seperate lives and yet still connected, affecting one another and the world around them. I could see all of the evils of the newscasts, the carjackings, rapes and murders, but there was good there as well. Every time the dust settled, there were good people there to help pick them up and put them back on their feet. It was then that began to feel hope again.

I'd grown quite large at that point; airplanes were buzzing like gnats in my ears. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of light and I turned. I saw it then, just waiting patiently out there, the rest of the world calling seductively to me. I gently picked up the last of the boxes, now no more than a tiny speck of sand pinched between my fingers. I toss it into the air and catch it like a snowflake on the tip of my tongue. Then, with a sigh and a last glance back at all the places I knew, I turn and wade into the gently rolling waves of the Pacific Ocean and beyond, the lights of distant cities are glimmering like stars on the horizon.

Damn, I’ve got goblins again.

Those filthy little buggers, living all nice and cozy in my walls. Even now I can hear them scurrying around, their tiny feet scratching and scuffing at the drywall. They've gone and scared my cat. I can just see his tail now, peeking out from over the top of my bookshelf. It's not his fault. After all, nobody likes having goblins. They're like tiny little in-laws. They show up without warning and won't leave till they're good and ready. Nobody at all knows why they do it.

There, I heard it again. I think there's one in my closet right now. Again a thump! That was the box of books shifting... And there! That was definitely a coat hanger clattering to the ground.

What are they up to? I know they're just biding their time, watching me from every nook and cranny they've gotten their ratty little claws into. It's what goblins do right? Wait, what do goblins do? Are they the reason my things have gone missing? First the tape recorder and my screwdriver set yesterday, then my blender and a package of twinkies this morning. Then they finished the milk and left the carton in the fridge. Who knows what else I haven't noticed yet.

What are they going to do with all of that anyway? What good is a tape recorder to a goblin? Are they going to set around in their little goblin cave, recording goblin curses in their skittering goblin tongue only to play them back again at double speed so that they sound like a bunch of chipmunks? Oh yeah, I bet they're getting a real good laugh out of it right now. Those bastards. And I was saving those twinkies too.

Or maybe they're building something. Yeah, I can imagine that. It would certainly explain the lab coat and goggles I thought I saw on that one hiding out in my garden shed. That makes sense. After all, I didn't really think that goblins cared all that much about making fashion statements.
I can just see the shed out of my bedroom window now, in fact, if I just lean over like so and... wait... now there are sparks coming out of the door? All blue and flashy and whatnot. What the heck are they... are they welding something? Bloody hell, and I thought termites were bad. Now look, I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me but I'm going to have to go and put a stop to this. Really, I think that this has gone on farrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr nowstopthatlijne; letgoofmeyoulittlena;ldf ohdamndamndamnljafla nodontnononobitingnoOHBUGGERlkja;l

The little bastard just bit me! I can't believe it. One of those little bootscrapers just tried to make off with my keyboard and, oh god, I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding from my friggin' hand. What if I come down with something now? Oh, for crying out loud, I could have rabies! And how am I going to explain that to my family, huh? "Oh yeah, I was just writing out an e-mail, minding my own business when a goblin, yes, a goblin. You know, small, green, big ears... Well yes, he may have only been small but, wait, are you laughing at me? But he had teeth! Teeth!"

Yeah, that'll go over really well and, do goblins even have rabies? Cause I know a guy who just last year... no, wait, you're right, not the point.

It just makes me so mad though. They think they can get the best of me? They think they can just come into a fellow's house and make off with some of his best swag? Haha, I don't think so.

I've got a flyswatter here and there's a can of Raid under the counter. As soon as I can find my bathrobe I'm going out there to the shed to give them a little piece of my mind.

Yep, as soon as I'm decent, ohhhhh, those bastards are gonna get it. I'll get them so good they'll wish they were never-


...wait...


where's my robe?

It was a little like The Shining but taking place in a high-rise apartment building. The entire dream took place over a single night. The haunting centered around an old book that someone had purchased at an antique sale. I didn't get a good look at it but I think it was someone's personal journal from around the turn of the century. In this dream I was just an average Joe living in a rather plain 3rd floor apartment. One of the other tenants on our floor, a girl, comes to my door because she was just coming home when she heard a large crashing sound coming from the place across the hall. It's owned by a family of four that I'd seen a time or two in the past but wasn't really familiar with. Their door is unlocked and swings open at the touch and for just a second I can hear a faint whispering voice calling out. We find the father first, resting in a leather reading chair in the living room. Books from the now empty shelves are littering the floor and are piled around the base of his chair. His face is frozen in a look of shocked surprise and one hand is hanging limply over the arm of the chair, the blood from his slit throat running down it and onto the carpet. The mother and daughter are in the children's bedroom. The girl is lying facedown under a heavy bookcase that's toppled over, the thick shag carpeting and the side of the bed is stained a dark red from the spray of the blood. The mother is on her knees, slumped over in front of the girl and still clutching her hand, a large butcher's knife protruding from her back. We search the apartment, looking for the boy but he's apparently gone (as is the book we'd later learn). I take the girl, who appears to be in shock, back to my apartment while I call the police.

I remember that the police do arrive much later but by then the power has been flickering off and on. The building's super, unaware of what's going on, has gone down to the basement to check on the circuit breakers. He finds a child's blanket and the book tucked away into a corner. Thinking that some of the building's kids have been playing down here again, he takes them with him when he leaves with the intent of finding out who it belongs to.

[Everything else after this point is just a blur.]