WTF, subconscious.
So both of my stalwart psychic defenders (you both know who you are) were apparently overwhelmed by hordes of the undead last night.
No, really, this is a thing. I have recurring zombie nightmares. They're horrible. And one friend said I should just call her the next time they show up, and she'll kick all their asses. Cue no nightmares for months, until she was horribly sick for three days, and oh, hey, the nightmares came back. (I don't even know, okay, guys. And yes, I did send her get-well wishes and she got all better.) So another friend said she'd pick up the slack. And hey, no zombie dreams for weeks.
Except last night, when there I am, in my mother's kitchen, with all the doors and windows boarded up to keep out the undead. Except that oh, there, they've gotten in upstairs somehow and through the side door and there I am in the kitchen with a handgun and lousy aim (because I cannot hit the broad side of a barn IRL and that carried over to the dream) and not enough zombies are being hit in the head to make a dent in the horde (because head shots kill zombies, I don't know, I don't ask).
And while I am desperately trying - and failing - to reload this damn gun, my mother and my father are standing behind me screaming at each other about how the other person is Doing It Wrong.
This is like, a metaphor for my life throughout all of high school and really should not be poking its way out of my subconscious now.
Also, stupid fucking zombies. I really, really hate zombies.
In other news, today I put up a (small and plastic) Christmas tree. It is adorable. It will not shed needles all over my carpet. Maybe next year I will get an actual real living tree. But this is the first tree I've put up that's really been mine. (Even if most of the decorations are left over from the tree I put up with Jo two years ago.)
No, really, this is a thing. I have recurring zombie nightmares. They're horrible. And one friend said I should just call her the next time they show up, and she'll kick all their asses. Cue no nightmares for months, until she was horribly sick for three days, and oh, hey, the nightmares came back. (I don't even know, okay, guys. And yes, I did send her get-well wishes and she got all better.) So another friend said she'd pick up the slack. And hey, no zombie dreams for weeks.
Except last night, when there I am, in my mother's kitchen, with all the doors and windows boarded up to keep out the undead. Except that oh, there, they've gotten in upstairs somehow and through the side door and there I am in the kitchen with a handgun and lousy aim (because I cannot hit the broad side of a barn IRL and that carried over to the dream) and not enough zombies are being hit in the head to make a dent in the horde (because head shots kill zombies, I don't know, I don't ask).
And while I am desperately trying - and failing - to reload this damn gun, my mother and my father are standing behind me screaming at each other about how the other person is Doing It Wrong.
This is like, a metaphor for my life throughout all of high school and really should not be poking its way out of my subconscious now.
Also, stupid fucking zombies. I really, really hate zombies.
In other news, today I put up a (small and plastic) Christmas tree. It is adorable. It will not shed needles all over my carpet. Maybe next year I will get an actual real living tree. But this is the first tree I've put up that's really been mine. (Even if most of the decorations are left over from the tree I put up with Jo two years ago.)