Confidential to my subconscious: CUT IT OUT!

[truepenny]

Having slept spectacularly badly last night (even aside from the vile dream), I went back to bed this morning. And dreamed ...


I had to go to Amsterdam for two weeks and couldn't figure out what to pack and wasn't going to get to the airport on time and didn't want to go anyway--really, REALLY didn't want to go--and Mirrorthaw wasn't there, and it was all incredibly bad.

And then on the way to the airport, stopped in at a party in an enormous old house, where I was more than usually clumsy. There was an intrusive, prying psychiatrist there. (Freudish, perhaps, but he really looked like the psychiatrist in the Booth cartoon: You dawdle, daydream. You make lists of things to do but can't get started. You seem to be restricted from doing what you know you should be doing. These problems will dissolve when you read Chapter Ten of my new book, at eight dollars and ninety-five cents.) And I guess, if nothing else, at least HE got what was coming to him.

The denizens of the house were hiding extremely valuable glass fruit (to keep people like me from dropping and breaking it), and the safest place for the package was in the second-floor bathroom. "Just don't get locked in," the housekeeper says to the housemaid. I don't know why the psychiatrist was spying on the kitchens, or why he felt he had to see what that package was, but he was and he did. So he followed the housemaid, waited 'til she'd left, and went into the bathroom to investigate.

He was not watching the door.

Which proves that he didn't know what kind of dream he was in (as a rule, in my dreams, you'd better watch the doors). For the thing that made that particular bathroom unsafe was a mummy crocheted in brightly-colored rainbow yarn. Sounds silly, I know, but it wasn't. The Crochet Mummy follows the psychiatrist in, locks the door behind it ... and then we find out one version of what the bed-linen thing in "Whistle and I'll Come to You, My Lad" might have wanted. The Crochet Mummy catches the psychiatrist and kisses him until he turns into it, and it turns back into the person it was before the previous Crochet Mummy got ahold of it. This woman unlocks the door and escapes; in following her, the psychiatrist Crochet Mummy falls down the stairs, and the dream dissolves.


Mercifully, less symbolic than the earlier dream, but still. I'm going to try staying awake now, and see how that goes.

Comments

[malinaldarose.livejournal.com]

Er. You haven't recently watched "Inca Mummy Girl", have you?

[rliz.livejournal.com]

I am simultaneously charmed, compelled, and frightened by the image of the Crochet Mummy. (My reader-self, writer-self, and three-year-old-self need to maybe stop fighting over the controls.) I may have to cameo it in a poem.

(I think I'll do that.)

(Could I dedicate it to you, th'n?)

[truepenny.livejournal.com]

You feel about the Crochet Mummy exactly as I do. That's so cool. I was hoping somebody would be able to find something to do with it--I can't; it's really not a prose kind of thing, a Crochet Mummy--and, voila!, you have. That's even cooler.

And if you want to dedicate your poem to me, that's cool, too. Extremely cool. Just don't forget to let me read it.

[rliz.livejournal.com]

I'm working on it now. Of course, that's no guarantee that I'll *finish* it any time soon-- I'm still dawdling over the HEATHER acrostic I started writing when renenet did her name-meme post-- but it's being very fun.

What name d'you want on there? (When I post it on LJ, I'll say truepenny, of course; but I'd also include it in the official acrostics ms., and I'm using people's real names, or their initials, there.)

[truepenny.livejournal.com]

First initial.

S.

That'll do nicely, thanks.