Urgh

Well, I ranted about doctors and dentists, so as penance for all the great medics I might have offended, I get the mother of all stupid tactless bastards to check me out. He irritated and scared me so much, I was convinced that he was the only person in the Northern hemisphere closer to death than me.

It's all so much crap, I'm not going to make it feel real by writing it here, but there is one thing I have to snarl about: I'm off to the hospital, where, apparently, 'They'll decide what to do about it.' Right. They'll decide. And there I was thinking this was my body, when in fact, I must have rented it off the hospital way back in the misty marshes of umbilical fluid. That explains the bar code on my arse. Cretins.

I refuse to think about this any more. My love and I shared white wine and chocolate curly-wurlies (I haven't had those in years!) and watched Black Hawk Down. It was harrowing, horrible and beautifully shot, even at its most gruesome. I have the sniffles (probably from waiting in that idiot's freezing surgery, but OK, there is an argument for it having been caused by wandering round saturday night Nottingham with my skirt flapping round my hips)No, I can't make any sense tonight. Sorry dear LJ, I am orf to bed.

Nightmares

OK, too bizarre. Woke from a strange dream, and after all, I did promise myself that this would be a dream diary. So.

In the dream, there was a pale, thick set man, mousey hair and skin, nothing to look at. He was, however, a killer and I knew it. He started taking an interest in me, overtly sexual glances, unpleasant smiles. People had been disappearing, one person quite recently from 'The second floor,' wherever that was. After a lot of TV style detective work the pale man became a prime suspect, but there was another man, a lawyer, who lived on the second floor and was also being questioned.

By this time, I knew the pale man was a dangerous nutter, currently convinced that he loved me and that we were having a relationship. I tried to tell people that he was dangerous. They began by listening intently and then went away. He started crying, all the power gone from him. 'Tell them,' he said, 'Tell them everything if you want.' I looked at his face, and noticed it was covered with ashes. Had someone died? But I didn't know how to ask him.

He grabbed my hands and pulled me way too close (interesting, as I am very tactile, and closeness isn't usually an issue with me) and started to weep tears all over me. I was in an evening dress and tried to pull away. He wouldn't let me. I wasn't afraid anymore, but I didn't feel any compassion either. 'For God's sake,' I thought, 'Won't get better, won't let go, What will you do?' There were no words, only pain, and me in my dress getting soggier and soggier. And for all his vulnerability, he was still trying to control, my hands struggling, pinned in his. 'What are you crying for?' I remembered how smug and threatening he had seen, before...before what?
'The best I can do,' I said or thought, 'Is tell the psychiatrist, find the doctor, explain to the police, find someone to help you.' I was angry with them too, for not wanting to help him, but he didn't want to be helped. He just wanted me covered with tears and ashes beside him. And he wouldn't let go, and the tears had covered my skin by now, the dress shivering with cold. My exasperation grew and with huge effort, I pulled my hands away.

I woke to find myself covered in sweat. Then I went back to sleep, and there I was, in the same evening dress! No longer damp, it looked very elegant. I remembered my intention to find someone and tell them about the man with the ashes on his face. I was going to an elegant bash, where I knew I could tell someone helpful. I was on my way when some LARPers turned up in tanks, something to do with the Jarl of Noatun. Like an eejit, I ran down to fight them, having totally forgotten that I was on my way to a ball. The tanks started firing, I retreated up the hill, falling on the grass and smearing grass stains all over the dress.

At this point, I gave up on the whole thing, the dress, the man with the ashes, the doctors and psychiatrists and definitely the tanks. 'They can sort him out themselves,' I decided. 'Or he can develop a pair of balls and do it for himself.' And I walked away.

I woke, feeling very light-headed.

Today is Amber Eyes' birthday. I insist on feeling good today!