I get into the habit of not posting, because Facebook needs less energy and because I never feel I have anything interesting enough to put here. Which is bollocks, really. It's not like I ever pretended this was a srs blog of any kind.

Fell asleep this afternoon and dreamed I was in this enormous kind of computer lab with a bunch of people. Everyone was doing SRS BSNS on these big shiny nearly magical computers, and I kept having to move out of their way. I was playing some kind of game, of course.

I've discovered a rich vein of dark, twisted, beautiful Torchwood fics and I feel you should all read it. It's here. Not all of it is dark, and I haven't read anything like all of it, but what I have read is both dark as hell and awesome beyond words.

peace out <3
I get into the habit of not posting, because Facebook needs less energy and because I never feel I have anything interesting enough to put here. Which is bollocks, really. It's not like I ever pretended this was a srs blog of any kind.

Fell asleep this afternoon and dreamed I was in this enormous kind of computer lab with a bunch of people. Everyone was doing SRS BSNS on these big shiny nearly magical computers, and I kept having to move out of their way. I was playing some kind of game, of course.

I've discovered a rich vein of dark, twisted, beautiful Torchwood fics and I feel you should all read it. It's here. Not all of it is dark, and I haven't read anything like all of it, but what I have read is both dark as hell and awesome beyond words.

peace out <3
I dreamed I was living in an old block of flats, very like the place in Lansdowne where I first lived alone with John except that the flats were bigger on the inside like puzzle boxes. Mine contained room after room full of heavy, dark Victorian furniture, lit by candles; but I couldn't seem to keep the door locked. I woke up in the morning and there was a strange dog, a Great Dane, playing biteyface with Spike. I went out onto the landing to take the Dane back to where he belonged, and one of my neighbours asked me when John would be coming back.

I clutched the ruff of long hair on Spike's neck. "It's complicated," I said. I knew he wouldn't be back. I went back into the room with the long dining table and tried to burn myself with the candles, but all I could do was put each one out, one by one. The hot wax wouldn't even sting on my skin and in any case it was useless, useless. I thought of the cold anger on his face and knew no amount of pain would persuade him to pity or forgive.

Make it stop, oh, make it stop.
I dreamed I was living in an old block of flats, very like the place in Lansdowne where I first lived alone with John except that the flats were bigger on the inside like puzzle boxes. Mine contained room after room full of heavy, dark Victorian furniture, lit by candles; but I couldn't seem to keep the door locked. I woke up in the morning and there was a strange dog, a Great Dane, playing biteyface with Spike. I went out onto the landing to take the Dane back to where he belonged, and one of my neighbours asked me when John would be coming back.

I clutched the ruff of long hair on Spike's neck. "It's complicated," I said. I knew he wouldn't be back. I went back into the room with the long dining table and tried to burn myself with the candles, but all I could do was put each one out, one by one. The hot wax wouldn't even sting on my skin and in any case it was useless, useless. I thought of the cold anger on his face and knew no amount of pain would persuade him to pity or forgive.

Make it stop, oh, make it stop.
Last night I dreamed Spike had run away. He came back, and I held him because I was so glad and relieved; and then I realised that his ribs were all caved in and broken, and he was bleeding from his nose and mouth. That he'd dragged himself back to me to die in my arms.

I was lucky; for some reason it was one of those dreams where you KNOW it's a dream while you're dreaming it. I managed to wake myself up without that awful moment when you truly aren't certain whether it really happened. I still had to call him over for a cuddle but my heart had known all along that my brain was just fucking with it. Possibly the idea of Velcro Shark Dog actually running away was too unlikely to swallow; either way, I am damn grateful.

Then I load up my friendslist and find someone else with essentially the same dream about her dog. What the fuck, is it the phase of the moon or something? Incubi?

*hugs*

Squish's recall has become so much more reliable that I am allowing him some park romp time off his longleash, although I keep it on him till he's done with his independent pottering and sniffing and shown me clearly that he's in the Retrieve Zone. For a long time now, the longleash has been not really necessary for him; it's just that I only have one brain, two hands and two feet and I also have Spike. But Squish isn't built for ten-yard retrieves, he's a long-legged distance running dog and I've felt for a long time that it's not fair to keep denying him the chance to really open up. And he's been so damn good, and the joy just shines off him when I let him loose. I don't leave him loose very long because I'm still outnumbered and overdogged, but I can see it doing him good physically and emotionally. I am pleased.
Last night I dreamed Spike had run away. He came back, and I held him because I was so glad and relieved; and then I realised that his ribs were all caved in and broken, and he was bleeding from his nose and mouth. That he'd dragged himself back to me to die in my arms.

I was lucky; for some reason it was one of those dreams where you KNOW it's a dream while you're dreaming it. I managed to wake myself up without that awful moment when you truly aren't certain whether it really happened. I still had to call him over for a cuddle but my heart had known all along that my brain was just fucking with it. Possibly the idea of Velcro Shark Dog actually running away was too unlikely to swallow; either way, I am damn grateful.

Then I load up my friendslist and find someone else with essentially the same dream about her dog. What the fuck, is it the phase of the moon or something? Incubi?

*hugs*

Squish's recall has become so much more reliable that I am allowing him some park romp time off his longleash, although I keep it on him till he's done with his independent pottering and sniffing and shown me clearly that he's in the Retrieve Zone. For a long time now, the longleash has been not really necessary for him; it's just that I only have one brain, two hands and two feet and I also have Spike. But Squish isn't built for ten-yard retrieves, he's a long-legged distance running dog and I've felt for a long time that it's not fair to keep denying him the chance to really open up. And he's been so damn good, and the joy just shines off him when I let him loose. I don't leave him loose very long because I'm still outnumbered and overdogged, but I can see it doing him good physically and emotionally. I am pleased.
As my friend Nye says, other people's dreams are boring )

In real life, my aunt is here now too. Today she and dad are going up to London to visit my grandmother's grave in Brookwood Cemetery.
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As my friend Nye says, other people's dreams are boring )

In real life, my aunt is here now too. Today she and dad are going up to London to visit my grandmother's grave in Brookwood Cemetery.
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When I hear about bad things happening, I sometimes have to go and clutch my collie tightly and cry into his fur. Last night, very late, this happened, and he was sound asleep in the hallway. My approach woke him, and as I crouched to hug him his head snapped up and whacked me hard on the bridge of my nose. It still hurts. I suppose it gave me an excuse for crying if I needed another.

Later, I dreamed. I dreamed I was at an animal shelter; one that could probably only exist in dreams, full of happy creatures of many different species confidently awaiting the new homes that they were assured of. The human workers were working their arses off to make it happen; but they were succeeding, smiling because working hard at something you love is no hardship.

Many of my friends were there, though Blaidd and Erin are the only ones I can definitely put names to now that I'm awake.

One of the things this place was doing was breeding peregrines for release into the wild. (I know, but it was a dream, after all.) Shelter workers were packing near-fledged falcons into travelling boxes to be taken to their release sites - dozens of them, crates full of bloom-dusted brown feathers and blue beaks and big dark eyes. When the boxes were full, they would tape poems on the inside of the lids, so the falcons would take the words with them into the sky.

Fly high and go with love.
When I hear about bad things happening, I sometimes have to go and clutch my collie tightly and cry into his fur. Last night, very late, this happened, and he was sound asleep in the hallway. My approach woke him, and as I crouched to hug him his head snapped up and whacked me hard on the bridge of my nose. It still hurts. I suppose it gave me an excuse for crying if I needed another.

Later, I dreamed. I dreamed I was at an animal shelter; one that could probably only exist in dreams, full of happy creatures of many different species confidently awaiting the new homes that they were assured of. The human workers were working their arses off to make it happen; but they were succeeding, smiling because working hard at something you love is no hardship.

Many of my friends were there, though Blaidd and Erin are the only ones I can definitely put names to now that I'm awake.

One of the things this place was doing was breeding peregrines for release into the wild. (I know, but it was a dream, after all.) Shelter workers were packing near-fledged falcons into travelling boxes to be taken to their release sites - dozens of them, crates full of bloom-dusted brown feathers and blue beaks and big dark eyes. When the boxes were full, they would tape poems on the inside of the lids, so the falcons would take the words with them into the sky.

Fly high and go with love.
Lately, all my dreams have a common theme; someone holding me, loving me. The dream characters are often implied sexual partners in the dream, but these are not sex dreams, merely dreams in which there's someone in my life who holds and hugs and loves me.

I miss that. I don't, I truly don't, want to be part of a couple. I don't want to live with someone, I can't deal with the expectations and obligations that sort of relationship carries. I'd fail miserably if I tried. But the thing the dreams are telling me is that I could really do with someone to be in my corner, that way. That I want someone around that I matter to enough that they'd hug me.

I know people who are reading this care about me in varying degrees. You know it isn't the same, and in any case none of you are here. I don't know what to do about it.

Getting out more would probably be a start. *sigh*
Lately, all my dreams have a common theme; someone holding me, loving me. The dream characters are often implied sexual partners in the dream, but these are not sex dreams, merely dreams in which there's someone in my life who holds and hugs and loves me.

I miss that. I don't, I truly don't, want to be part of a couple. I don't want to live with someone, I can't deal with the expectations and obligations that sort of relationship carries. I'd fail miserably if I tried. But the thing the dreams are telling me is that I could really do with someone to be in my corner, that way. That I want someone around that I matter to enough that they'd hug me.

I know people who are reading this care about me in varying degrees. You know it isn't the same, and in any case none of you are here. I don't know what to do about it.

Getting out more would probably be a start. *sigh*
I dreamed I was at a farmhouse, with a whole bunch of friends; the ones I can put names to after waking up were [livejournal.com profile] ulva, [livejournal.com profile] huntingdon, [livejournal.com profile] ambersaigh, [livejournal.com profile] pointyhairedone and [livejournal.com profile] tenna, but I'm sure there were more of you. We were on holiday; there were horses and Border Collies there but they weren't ours.

We were lying in the sun on a paved patio; the good kind of paved, with old natural rock slabs and moss. We were singing, and talking about going to ride the horses and playing with the dogs later; but for now we were all just lying in the sun.

It was really, really good.
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I dreamed I was at a farmhouse, with a whole bunch of friends; the ones I can put names to after waking up were [livejournal.com profile] ulva, [livejournal.com profile] huntingdon, [livejournal.com profile] ambersaigh, [livejournal.com profile] pointyhairedone and [livejournal.com profile] tenna, but I'm sure there were more of you. We were on holiday; there were horses and Border Collies there but they weren't ours.

We were lying in the sun on a paved patio; the good kind of paved, with old natural rock slabs and moss. We were singing, and talking about going to ride the horses and playing with the dogs later; but for now we were all just lying in the sun.

It was really, really good.
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I've been trying to alter my sleep hours to something a bit more practical, since falling asleep at 10am and waking at six makes things like shopping and telephoning people during office hours a touch tricky. It's working, sort of, except that after waking at eleven this morning I abruptly ran out of steam at eleven last night. It was a stop as sudden as dropping out of the sky; one minute I'm happily chatting and the next I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to feed the dogs and hit the deck.

So I put on the current Doctor Who series on a loop, passed out ten minutes into Smith and Jones and woke from a dream that should have set the bed on fire; except that I would likely have quenched it.

...and what do I do next? Come and post a music dump for you.

This week's theme is fairly obvious. )
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I've been trying to alter my sleep hours to something a bit more practical, since falling asleep at 10am and waking at six makes things like shopping and telephoning people during office hours a touch tricky. It's working, sort of, except that after waking at eleven this morning I abruptly ran out of steam at eleven last night. It was a stop as sudden as dropping out of the sky; one minute I'm happily chatting and the next I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to feed the dogs and hit the deck.

So I put on the current Doctor Who series on a loop, passed out ten minutes into Smith and Jones and woke from a dream that should have set the bed on fire; except that I would likely have quenched it.

...and what do I do next? Come and post a music dump for you.

This week's theme is fairly obvious. )
Tags:
They tell me that after a death, the living dream; vivid dreams of the dead alive again. That did happen for me, in fact, with my grandfather and my childhood dog, but it never happened with you. There was only the recurring nightmare in which you never appeared; the one that made me cling to the memory of your death as less painful than the dream.

Until now; and you didn't speak, didn't let me see you; there was only your weight on me like an incubus. Your hands holding my throat, not quite gently, until I woke.


I almost dare to hope for forgiveness.
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They tell me that after a death, the living dream; vivid dreams of the dead alive again. That did happen for me, in fact, with my grandfather and my childhood dog, but it never happened with you. There was only the recurring nightmare in which you never appeared; the one that made me cling to the memory of your death as less painful than the dream.

Until now; and you didn't speak, didn't let me see you; there was only your weight on me like an incubus. Your hands holding my throat, not quite gently, until I woke.


I almost dare to hope for forgiveness.
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