Dr. Beads

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Return of the Bride of Nightmare

Last night, while catching up on the sleep I had missed on the two previous nights, I experienced two prize-winning nightmares. Naturally, I consider this kind of stuff blogworthy.

In the first feature, I was being threatened with exposure by some bureaucratic nitpicker who had discovered errors in my time logs from several years earlier. Facing unemployment and criminal prosecution, and finding that rational argument and bribes would not work with her, I tried to run away. She jumped me. My mother defended me by poking the attacker with a shovel that must have been sharper than either of us thought, because after a while the attacker's head came right off. [Thanks, Mom. If only you had been as assertive while you were alive.] Hilarity ensued as we tried to find a place to hide the head and the rest of the corpse, separately of course. (I remember putting the head into a bucket of cement which was, of course, in the back yard. Nosy neighbor kids tried to observe the goings-on.)

In the second feature, I was a passenger on a cruise ship run by an increasing paranoid and psychotic captain who was being driven madder each day by a bad case of hyperthyroidism. Other passengers and I kept moving from level to level trying to avoid him. As we charged up a flight of stairs that overlooked a central court, we discovered that Cap'n Bananas had removed the half-height wall intended to keep people from falling from the staircase into the atrium, and had replaced it with a single swath of wide, light-blue ribbon.

These are nuthin' compared to the nightmares I used to have. My subconscious isn't half trying.

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Thursday, February 01, 2007

I'm Running the Catbabble Report!

Last night I dreamed that I was doing my current job. I had been having difficulty getting all the information I needed from the usual report and had just figured out how to get the whole enchilada by running a report that other people, naturally, weren't familiar with.

As I was trying to show the results to a bored colleague, I realized that I'd bettter make sure I wasn't the only one who knew how to get the information, since I wasn't going to be around the department much longer.

"See?" I told the bored colleague. "It's all here in the Catbabble report."

He turned and walked away. As he let a door close behind him, I ran to the door, pushed it open, and shouted at his retreating figure, "Catbabble report!"

I Can't Hear You, I'm Surrounded by Idiots

Night before last, I dreamed about trying to do my old job in a roomful of noisy people who were all loudly trying to get my attention or otherwise making my life miserable.

The resources I needed were missing, and I had just scraps of paper to make notes on.

The person giving me an assignment over the phone was elderly, vague, barely coherent, and (yet? of course?) evidently quite entitled to whatever the hell he wanted, whenever the hell he wanted it.