clo_again

So I've talked about my odd dreams before. Giant butterflies, redesigned Londons, Philip Glenister shouting at politicians, faeries kidnapping people. I like my dreams. My subconscious puts effort into them, or at least into making them entertainingly random.

But. The last few days, I've sensed a theme. Friday night, I dreamed that Roger Federer had called a press conference to announce he wanted more points/money for winning matches against top ten players and the ensuing uproar.

Last night I dreamed I was at Wimbledon, which for some inexplicable reason seemed to have been transported in its entirety into the Australian outback, and while walking around backstage we bumped into John McEnroe who was shouting at someone else. (I don't know about what. Possibly that Wimbledon had just fallen through the Earth to the opposite side of the planet and they could not be serious about wanting to make it an Australian tournament from now on).

And just now I took a two hour nap, during which I dreamed that my neighbours had opened a Michelin starred restaurant in their house and Novak Djokovic had brought a coachload of friends (for some reason, this included some cowboys?) to try it out and I spent the whole time pressed to the window, wondering if could go and get him to sign every tennis-related thing I own. He saw me. He waved. But I still wussed out, probably because my subscious failed to provide a dream!kindoftrouble to yell at me for not tackling him to the ground for a hug immediately.

So. Tennis players. I never dream about tennis players, at least nowhere near as often as I'd expect to considering it's my only obsession other than Casper to last longer than five years. Dear brain, what are you trying to say? Should I rob a bank and use my ill-gotten gains to become a professional tennis player stalker? You're seriously recomending that as a sensible life direction?

...Sounds good to me. ;-)

*

In other news! I have set up Dreamwidth crossposting. In theory, this will make my Dreamwidth account more interesting but it'll probably mostly change nothing at all. I do have a couple of Dreamwidth codes available if anyone wants one? First come, first served basis. Leave me your email in a comment if you want one (I just typed 'if you want me'. *blinks* Idek what kind of Freudian slip that is).

You can also read/comment on this entry here http://aomakutu.dreamwidth.org/1375.html .

A random comment just gave me a weird vision of an AU internet-modelled world where fandoms are like guilds and fans gather together in person to hang out and go on quests to stalk the actors/sportspeople/whatevers of their fandom and bring back pictures. Or possibly items of clothing; you'd probably get about a million points for their underwear.

I am confused by this internet version of reality. On one hand it'd be marvellous to live in a house full of tennis fans or Doctor Who fans or whatever but... can you imagine things like 'ship wars in person? Possibly with blunt objects?

I wonder if the many-worlds theory means that this universe actually exists somewhere. That's...quite a scary thought.

*

Slept in hugely late today (my alarm went off at 8am, my second alarm at 8:30am, I got up at 11:30am. Yeah) because I fell back asleep after my alarm and dreamed that there was a bunch of us on a school bus with a driver who didn't know the way and got us lost down a grassy road leading to some ruins. Then faeries - of the tall-freaky-sort rather than butterfly-wings-and-sparkles sort - chased us into a hotel-like building beside the ruins and told us we weren't allowed to leave.

I woke up, thought "that felt really familiar" but it took me half an hour and breakfast to realise that the moment we got locked in, I knew there'd be no cell phone signal and went to the bar that I knew was in there to ask for their landline phone. At the time it seemed perfectly reasonable that I knew to do this because I'd been there before. And I have; I dreamed basically the same thing years ago. It was like being in a movie but knowing the entire plot so you could skip the boring bits.

I'm pretty sure that last time I didn't have a phone conversation with Stéphane Lambiel when I called for help (why did I call him? Not a clue. Maybe I thought he had special Faerie-fighting abilities. I can't imagine why). That was new. Sadly I spent the entire time arguing with my brain over his accent. It went something like:

Me: He doesn't sound like this.
Brain: How do you know?!
Me: I watch stuff on Youtube. You were there.
Brain: ...Maybe French accents sound different on the phone.
Me: Maybe they do but I doubt they sound exactly like the Monty Python and the Holy Grail French soldiers.
Brain: Ah-hah! But he's Swiss.
Me: ...Did you seriously just argue that all Swiss-French accents sound like the insulting soildiers from Monty Python?
Brain: Maybe. Shut up and go fight some faeries.

Consequential Youtube research has proved that he sounds, more than anything, like someone took a French accent and an American accent and bred a mutant child from them. It's really quite sweet but mostly importantly, I was right and my brain was wrong. HAH.


eta: Bonus! Monty Python versus Stéphane Lambiel. I think my brain is on crack without me knowing or something; it's the only explanation. I mean, what. The day Stéphane Lambiel says "English pig-dogs!" is the day the entire universe folds up on itself and hides in a corner sobbing.

(...Which doesn't mean I wouldn't be laughing for the split second after he said it and before we all got universe-smushed. Hysterically.)

This morning, I find myself wanting to marry this man's voice. I love people who sound fantastic with just an acoustic guitar for backup. That said, nothing beats their Carnival of Rust vid. Think I might have to cave and get an album before the end of the holidays, import prices or not.

Don't mention the D-W-words to me today. Must focus on work until then. Like finishing The Odyssey which I never did.

But. 7pm. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Dreamt, oddly enough, that I was a student going through three years of university. Only I stalked the same guy -- who looked remarkably like James Murray -- for three years and then David Tennant showed up to advertise the new series of Doc- DW, so clearly I was just delusional because no university is that cool. And also, curious about why there was suddenly a coastline with sharks and freak waves. Apparently my mental university has more eye candy but ups the danger levels to match.

I even dream about being a university student. Yeah. I don't need to get out more at all.