Day Two of emptyhead.
This is killing me.
I haven't even had any really good dreams I could blog about.
Well, there was that one two nights ago, where I was driving around Terlingua, TX in a '73 Plymouth Road Runner, and I was a bionic secret agent who had been ambushed by ninjas from the bad guys' team who had totally beat me up and then wiped my memories of the attack, and we wouldn't have even known what had happened if the enemy ninjas hadn't pried out my cyborg eye and written threatening messages to the head of my organization on the retina that were discovered when the doctors examined me under a giant microscope...
You know, normal boring dreams like that.
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25 comments:
Good grief, Tam...what the *heck* are you eating before bedtime???
- Mike
Here, this one's on me--another spam comment from my trap:
"Sexes gratuis culasse scooter"
I was following it until the last word, and then I got confused. It's so much like the classic:
Haiku's are easy
but do not always make sense
refrigerator
...but with smaller syllables...
I had what should have been a great set-up for a fun dream. You, Brigid, and I had somehow gotten locked in a futuristic mall. The service robots had gone rogue and were killing the anyone they could find. We commandeered a big floor-sweeping robot, ripped out the internals, and got inside so we could use it to travel safely.
We went to the bar in the mall. Not the exit. We didn't fight our way through robotic hordes or anything. No, the dream devolved into 'a blond, a brunette, and a red head walk into a bar...'
Sometimes my subconscious is so lame.
I liked the '72 Roadrunner better, it had the goggle-shaped grill. Always wanted one.
Thankfully, the lame joke set-up did not become a lame joke. Instead we just laughed about how our adventure had just turned into the set-up of a bad joke. And then we had beer.
So I guess it's not all bad.
Any dream that involves having a beer with friends is, practically by definition, a good dream. :)
I thought of you last night as I swapped the Pachmayr Presentation grips on my late 40's vintage M&P for a Hogue rubber monogrip.
I figured you're probably one of those purists who thinks it sacrilege to put rubber grips on a vintage S&W revolver :-)
Ya know, since "I-can't-blog" doesn't really take any time, you could try answering your email. ;)
Crazy talk, I know.
or texts
Uhhh, Miz Tam? You ever thought a teachin' a Creative Writtin' course? Cuz' you come up with the dangedest two-three paragraphs of NUTHIN' Ah evea seed.
Yeah, what he said...in spades!
At least you have and remember your dreams. Unless I'm dreaming of work, I have absolutely no recollection of my dreams. And when I dream of work, it's not a restful nights sleep.
Work dreams. I still have nightmares about the waitering job I had in college -- and I am 50. Full blown panic attack type dreams.
The neat part is after a while my subconcious finally says, "Hey, you do not have that job anymore!" And my subconcious rolls over, smiles, and goes back to normal sleep.
RD
Someone must have put green peppers on your pizza while you weren't looking.
You know Johnny C@sh w@s @ ninj@.
I should add that the song that kept playing in the dream was "Bottle of Fur" by Urge Overkill...
You should sell some of those dreams to Larry Correia, or co-write with him.
All the dreams I have had lately I could remember either involved shooting an IDPA match or going on a road trip.
Blogger Rules:
1) Never tell 'em you can't think today.
2) We all know the muse is fickle.
3) Silence on the blog might well be due to the writer having wild non-stop sex for 36 continuous hours, because they're busy with the Police after thwarting a home invasion by an enraged commenter, or they're stuck on the toilet without an iPad to email for help.
4) A day of silent meditation is good for you.
I had my first ever Star Trek; TNG dream last night. And I fell asleep listening to the Harry Potter audio books. Jim Dale not Stephen Fry. Riker got cast as Snape, Troy was Quirrel (but she and Riker had switched seats on the bridge for some reason), and Picard was Harry. Until I woke up I thought I was in the weird part of YouTube.
Nicotine patch for the creative juices. Used to date a girl who was quiting smoking. Told me she used to have the most vivid dreams. Just a thought. ;)
Ermmmmm ... voluntarily accept an addiction that is harder to quit than heroin in order to get creative?
That wasn't a dream...I don't know how it happened, but you perfectly described my day last Thursday.
Pretty boring comapred to the rest of my life, but I kind of enjoyed the break from the real excitement.
I didn't have dreams that bizarre when I was taking the anti-malaria medicine before I went to Costa Rica.
"...threatening messages to the head of my organization on the retina that were discovered when the doctors examined me under a giant microscope..."
Yeah, I know what you mean. I hate it when that happens. -- Lyle
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