Sweet dreams are made of this.
Aug. 7th, 2004 12:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhTwo new drabbles over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fuda_100. The first one is possibly stretching the theme a little, but I couldn't believe no one had taken advantage of the 'picture' theme to post images.
Wednesday night I was working on these drabbles in bed, right before I went to sleep, and even after I started trying to go to sleep. You know how that is? You turn off the lights and lie down, but just as your mind is going blank, you suddenly hit on some new image, or the perfect way to phrase that idea you couldn't get to work, and you have to get up and write it down.
Well, apparently I kept doing this even after I'd fallen asleep. I had this dream in which I'd written this perfect, beautiful drabble. It was poetic and symbolic and subtle and amazing and just the best thing EVAR OMG. So I woke myself up because I was afraid of forgetting it by morning, and needed to write it down. Except as soon I regained consciousness, I realized my wonderful drabble was, in fact, nonsense on crack. Nonsense on the *bad*, *INSANE* crack. Here is what I remember of it (and the formatting was included in the dream. I even recall seeing the italics):
Men like to write.
Men like to write.
Hisoka knows it now. He can feel, 'He's rolling me on the ground! The knife is like silver!'
The man likes to write.
O.o Wow, subconscious. Thanks for that one. Really.
Because you see, I fell back asleep only to have the same dream. And wake myself up again. And do it again. And again. And then I had creepy nightmares about eggs (They were EVIL eggs!) and then one in which I was leading a secret double life as Ron Burgundy from Anchorman and I had to keep my real identity as a, you know, *girl*, hidden from everyone, but my best friend from high school broke into my house while I wasn't in disguise. So, I got no sleep. Work was so much fun.
More in the complaining vein- I'm going to a family wedding tomorrow, which will involve a four-hour drive each way. Either I will write a ton of ClubSoka in my notebook, or I will murder my family. It's a tossup.
fuda_100. The first one is possibly stretching the theme a little, but I couldn't believe no one had taken advantage of the 'picture' theme to post images.Wednesday night I was working on these drabbles in bed, right before I went to sleep, and even after I started trying to go to sleep. You know how that is? You turn off the lights and lie down, but just as your mind is going blank, you suddenly hit on some new image, or the perfect way to phrase that idea you couldn't get to work, and you have to get up and write it down.
Well, apparently I kept doing this even after I'd fallen asleep. I had this dream in which I'd written this perfect, beautiful drabble. It was poetic and symbolic and subtle and amazing and just the best thing EVAR OMG. So I woke myself up because I was afraid of forgetting it by morning, and needed to write it down. Except as soon I regained consciousness, I realized my wonderful drabble was, in fact, nonsense on crack. Nonsense on the *bad*, *INSANE* crack. Here is what I remember of it (and the formatting was included in the dream. I even recall seeing the italics):
Men like to write.
Hisoka knows it now. He can feel, 'He's rolling me on the ground! The knife is like silver!'
The man likes to write.
O.o Wow, subconscious. Thanks for that one. Really.
Because you see, I fell back asleep only to have the same dream. And wake myself up again. And do it again. And again. And then I had creepy nightmares about eggs (They were EVIL eggs!) and then one in which I was leading a secret double life as Ron Burgundy from Anchorman and I had to keep my real identity as a, you know, *girl*, hidden from everyone, but my best friend from high school broke into my house while I wasn't in disguise. So, I got no sleep. Work was so much fun.
More in the complaining vein- I'm going to a family wedding tomorrow, which will involve a four-hour drive each way. Either I will write a ton of ClubSoka in my notebook, or I will murder my family. It's a tossup.
