Tag Archives: dreams

Snooze alarming


This morning, in the surreal 10 minutes I allow myself between snooze alarms, I had a Commodore 64 text-only game half-dream wherein your “soul” left your body when you hit the snooze, and if you slept through it, you would turn into a goblin.

The “soul” was a lower-case p, by the way.

I used the above as a FB status update today at 8pm because at 8am it still felt too visual for a short synopsis. I’m not entirely sure if a goblin really was the thing you’d turn into, or if it was a game I was playing in the dream, or if my dream idea of a ‘soul’ just happened to look like a lower-case, slightly green ‘p’ on a black background and my waking brain decided it was an old computer game.

Does anyone remember the text-only game DND? It’s really the only text game I ever played, in 1990, on a Tandy 1000EX. I had graph paper and I mapped out all of the dungeon levels so I wouldn’t get lost. I fudged the truth on FB as no one remembers the Tandy but most would recall the Commodore 64 or 128. We had a 128, hahahah, suck it, you peons who only had the 64-bit version! Our Dad has always been great for keeping up with computers, technology and gaming. We even had an Atari. My older sister liked Frogger best, but I was mad for the Q-man. I played Q-Bert until I got too good at it, and turned the joystick upside down and played it that way as a challenge, until that got boring. And then I realised the whole time I was playing it on the ‘easy’ level. When I switched it to ‘hard’ it kicked my ass and I gave up.

Well I went off on a tangent there, didn’t I. Guess that’s what a blog is for. Mine, anyway.

I have no idea what might happen if you slept all the way through a snooze alarm, I’m just incapable of doing so. Does it give up and stop eventually? Or could it be that the part that makes you you will slip off into the ether, or ethernet, forever?

I’m a killer (?)


I had a dream last night that was a bit stranger than usual. I dreamt that the body of a man I’d murdered was found. I had buried it in the woods on my friend’s property in Baker, Florida.

I was pretty confident that I would never be a suspect as I had no connection to the dead man.

My dad was in charge of the investigation (he’s a retired policeman). Out of the blue, he told me he thought I was the killer, because the edges of the bullet holes in the body were very clean and precise, just like the edges of the bullet holes I left when I went shooting at the gun range. He showed me one of my old paper targets as an example.

I woke up feeling so guilty that I actually lay there and thought: I didn’t kill anyone, did I? Could I have murdered someone and blocked the memory? I’m sure if I did, he deserved it, and there must have been no way to prove he was evil, so murder was my only recourse…

I’ve never been to a gun range, and my dad retired over a decade ago – and he wasn’t in charge of homicide investigations.

I wonder what I feel so guilty about to make me have a dream like this? Does my brain even work that way?


Tennessee Ernie Ford, Sixteen Tons.

This one is all your fault, Sled. I’ve been waiting on this song to show up.

Quite irritating, too. Not the song, I like it, but the way it started playing.
I woke up, looked at the time, decided it was late enough and I should get up. I did a back-pain inventory and realised I was lying a little crooked, and hoped I hadn’t messed myself up for the day. I put my knees up to do my back strengthening exercise, and then remembered that I’d had really interesting, long dreams, the ones that are more like movies with proper plots. I love those, so I tried to recall the last one…and it was like watching someone drop the needle on the record. “No, you cannot watch a brain-film in bed! You must listen to ‘you load sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt’…” Arrrgh.

Earworm OTD


Brenda Lee’s version of The Crying Game.

Once again, because I heard a snippet of it when iDJ was ‘crate digging’ last night. Ooo, that sounds a bit dirty. It’s DJ talk for looking through the music collection! Since his collection is digital, it’s more listening through rather than looking.

I also woke up right after someone in a dream said to me, “Carrot is rebelling against something.” I think he meant the dog’s stuffed toy Carrot. Can’t say as the damn song drove the dream away. Grrr.

Earworm OTD

Earworm of the day


Morning! I think I’ll introduce you to something not-quite-sane today. I hope to do it as a regular post. My ‘theme’ (did you hear that in a teacher’s voice? Good.) allows me to post something called an ‘aside.’ Tomorrow, my earworm will be an aside.

I have really cool dreams. To me, anyhow. No, I won’t bore you with them.* Mostly because I can’t remember them for more than a few minutes. This really annoys me, some neat-o shit happens and I’m endlessly fascinated by what my subconscious gets up to. But, alas, something drives my dreams out of my head the moment I can think in complete thoughts.

My earworm.

You know what that is, right? A song that gets stuck in your head and plays in an unending loop? Usually just a fragment, a line, a bit of melody. I wake up with a new song in my head every damn morning. Every. Damn. Morning.

It took me years to realise this was happening. I’m lying there, trying to recall my dream in detail – if you don’t think about it right away it fades – and instead…lalalalala, lalalalala, lalalalala… sheeeeit. Gone. After a while, I figured out that music is overwriting my memory. Dammit!

I’m not sleeping well lately. Mostly in a good way: my brain is happy and wants to write. I’m up at 4, 5 am and thinking away! But this means I’m now getting two bloody earworms a day! Not fair!

Since I’m such a nice person, I’m going to share them with you.

5am: Queen, Don’t Stop Me Now

8am: some song by Super Furry Animals that was on the radio yesterday. It’s still in there.


*I lied. Here’s a bit of my dream at 5 am. Totally about blog anxiety… the phone rang and the guy in bed next to me reached over to answer it. It wasn’t my husband, and I sure as hell don’t have a corded Princess phone in babyshit brown next to my bed. Anyhow, it was some whack job who had figured out who I am from the blog and rang up to ask me creepy questions. My bedmate didn’t reply but also didn’t hang up the phone right, so I could still hear freakboy talking and getting angry. This because I posted a comment to a cool cartoon site and used my blog URL. Paranoid much?