General Update
Jan. 25th, 2008 11:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lydamorehouseShawn's dad's surgery has been postponed again. Now they're not planning on operating until February 1. It's not clear from talking to grandma if they decided he still wasn't healthy enough or if grandma just got her wires crossed on the day. Either way, Shawn is going to delay going down until next Wednesday, which works out beautifully for me. Now we don't have to fret at all about dealing with a babysitter on the first night of my Loft class.
Speaking of my Loft class, I had one of those VERY strange dreams about being late to school last night. This one involves a tiny bit of backstory before I go into it. First, last night was writers' group and we all talked about whether or not we were planning on attending The Fourth Street Fantasy Convention in June. Stephen Brust (aka![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skzbrust), who is very much involved in 4th Street, and I have a very strange history, not unlike the one I have, in my mind, with Neil Gaiman. Brust and I were at Rennaissance Festival academy together, which is, frankly, just weird. At the time, I had no aspirations to be a writer, but my dear friend Bill ("Faux Pas" out at Festival) was extremely impressed with Brust and his writing, and insisted I check him out. I did. Let's just say, I was less so smitten. If I really think about my adverse reaction to Brust, I might be forced to get very Fruedian and admit that there are things about his personality that remind me of myself... particularly my "con personality" with which I have a love/hate relationship. For the record, our entire relationship is completely fiction, that is to say I've made it up in my own mind. I'm not sure Brust would recognize me (actually, I'm certain he wouldn't having been on panels with him where he misprounced my name.) However, he is at the epicenter of a set in the Twin Cities writing community with which me and my friends have often found themselves at odds.
The second bit of information you need to know about what was on my mind last night before I fell asleep was that I read #528 Fantastic Four (Straczynski/McKone), which in some other post I may extoll the virtues of. Anyway, in it, there is a rather dramatic explosion which one of the other characters, Dr. Love, implies may be an act of terrorism by Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic.
Okay, with all this floating around in my subconscious, here is the dream. I dreamed that I was attending a party at Stephen Brust's house (which was a set that I'd used often in dreams, so much that my dream persona noted to Elise Matheison that I'd spent a lot of time playing there in my youth.) So, I'm hanging out knowing that I have to be at the Loft class in a half hour. I'm watching the clock anxiously when Elise or maybe even Jane Yolen slips me some LSD. Suddenly, it's quarter to seven. (Like, in my dream, I look up and the hands actually spring forward.) I dash out, still high. I'm alternately running and driving through this Gaimanesque forest/Wisconsin backwoods, when I get to THE BORDER. At the Border, I have to go through customs and it's clear to me that I have a false passport, and I have to spend minutes convincing the customes officer that I'm truly a Israeli citizen. There's another guy in the line beside me who has a container. My nose was actually plugged up last night, and so in my dream, I needed to throw away a Kleenex. I unscrewed this guy's container and tossed the Kleenex in, and as I did that I realized he had explosive gell in the container. I took off runnning knowing I was going to be blamed for the blast. I woke up as the whole thing blew.
Weirdest dang dream.
Speaking of my Loft class, I had one of those VERY strange dreams about being late to school last night. This one involves a tiny bit of backstory before I go into it. First, last night was writers' group and we all talked about whether or not we were planning on attending The Fourth Street Fantasy Convention in June. Stephen Brust (aka
skzbrust), who is very much involved in 4th Street, and I have a very strange history, not unlike the one I have, in my mind, with Neil Gaiman. Brust and I were at Rennaissance Festival academy together, which is, frankly, just weird. At the time, I had no aspirations to be a writer, but my dear friend Bill ("Faux Pas" out at Festival) was extremely impressed with Brust and his writing, and insisted I check him out. I did. Let's just say, I was less so smitten. If I really think about my adverse reaction to Brust, I might be forced to get very Fruedian and admit that there are things about his personality that remind me of myself... particularly my "con personality" with which I have a love/hate relationship. For the record, our entire relationship is completely fiction, that is to say I've made it up in my own mind. I'm not sure Brust would recognize me (actually, I'm certain he wouldn't having been on panels with him where he misprounced my name.) However, he is at the epicenter of a set in the Twin Cities writing community with which me and my friends have often found themselves at odds.The second bit of information you need to know about what was on my mind last night before I fell asleep was that I read #528 Fantastic Four (Straczynski/McKone), which in some other post I may extoll the virtues of. Anyway, in it, there is a rather dramatic explosion which one of the other characters, Dr. Love, implies may be an act of terrorism by Reed Richards/Mr. Fantastic.
Okay, with all this floating around in my subconscious, here is the dream. I dreamed that I was attending a party at Stephen Brust's house (which was a set that I'd used often in dreams, so much that my dream persona noted to Elise Matheison that I'd spent a lot of time playing there in my youth.) So, I'm hanging out knowing that I have to be at the Loft class in a half hour. I'm watching the clock anxiously when Elise or maybe even Jane Yolen slips me some LSD. Suddenly, it's quarter to seven. (Like, in my dream, I look up and the hands actually spring forward.) I dash out, still high. I'm alternately running and driving through this Gaimanesque forest/Wisconsin backwoods, when I get to THE BORDER. At the Border, I have to go through customs and it's clear to me that I have a false passport, and I have to spend minutes convincing the customes officer that I'm truly a Israeli citizen. There's another guy in the line beside me who has a container. My nose was actually plugged up last night, and so in my dream, I needed to throw away a Kleenex. I unscrewed this guy's container and tossed the Kleenex in, and as I did that I realized he had explosive gell in the container. I took off runnning knowing I was going to be blamed for the blast. I woke up as the whole thing blew.
Weirdest dang dream.