of dreams

I dreamt about radiation and iodine tablets and safe houses and government corruption last night.

There was a “prankster” who terrorised government owned institutions using weapons named after the very thing she was using them against.

A biological bomb called roses which vaporised bodies into dust – if you didn’t die instantly, you’d become an invisible ghostly being swept away by the wind until you dissolved entirely and became nothing. Used against every corrupt member of the ruling parties, the coalition of roses.

A giant battering ram called a warhammer used against the ministry of defense cracked down the upper walls and floors while slave labourers – atypical human beings and other species – rose up against their superiors on the lower floors.

Giant dogs bred for violence and hunting used to keep the population in check, now they’re raised with love and keep children safe – they’re guard dogs, but are renamed entirely. Gone is the guard, the minder, the executioner – they are named after new values and new hopes; Trusty, Loyal, Fluffy, and at one point, Steve. It’s the biggest, blackest dog of the bunch and the child it belongs to sleeps beside it every night and hugs it every morning and the child’s mother reminds, “the dog’s name is Chocolate, for the colour of her eyes” – but the child doesn’t care.

Poison – glittery white powder that looks like snow, called either fairy dust (“never fairy, don’t ever call it that”) or hot snow, for the way it burns down your throat and sets your body on fire. Flavourless, but for a hint of sweetness and the burst of chill at first taste – they say it’s based on menthol and nobody uses menthol for centuries after this war is over, not for medicine, not for candy, not for anything at all – this poison is used to assassinate the oligarchy because they themselves used it to quietly assassinate “troublesome” folks. Mix it in the sugar, they’ll take their tea eventually… children and nannies are but collateral damage.

I dreamt of violence and cruelty and people who fought back bloody, who fought back strong, who lost and loved and rejoiced and rebuilt the world in their own image.

Hey look, it’s my month!

Ahh, December. The month of mixed feelings and chaos. The month of birthdays and Christmas and friends. And also the month of deadlines, exams, more deadlines and a helluva lot of frustrations.

All through November I haven’t had a single day off because we’re understaffed at work, and this month we’ll start training the newbies – which naturally means a lot less time off. I’m being forced to actually spend my weekends on writing my thesis, since my workdays are all work. I’m also fast running out of DVDs – most all I can do when I come home is watch some old series I’ve seen four times already, to unwind. Less work for the brain, you see, with this old stuff. New series? Forget it. I can’t process new information. I can’t produce anything new either. Between how late I get home and how mentally exhausted I am, I get zero writing done.

I miss writing. I miss my characters and universes so bad it’s making me itch. This morning when I woke up I spent an extra ten minutes in bed just thinking about what my characters are up to and attempting to type something out on my phone, just to get something out there. It helped, for about two point five seconds, and then the frustration returned. Kind of like when you have a chocolate craving so you say to yourself “just one piece, just the one piece” and you have that one piece and then your craving gets worse.

Well, I don’t have time for my writing abstinences. I have Christmas parties and December birthdays (including my own) to attend.