May 18th, 2004


not quite a national holiday.

Disturbing dreams last night where I was with my mother and we were killing small animals--except they refused to die. I severed a cat's head and it ran off, head still intact, leaving me worried about what would happen when it finally rolled loose. Then we tried to kill a gerbil until it became high farce, like a Tom and Jerry cartoon. We severed its head and it kept running around merrily, refusing to let its head drop; we buried it in the yard and it shoved its way out again in about ten seconds flat. Energetic little sucker.

Later I dreamed that I was sharing all my James Marsters fears with someone. "I'm so afraid that he'll get another series, or do commercials, or radio voice-overs, or a talk show, or a movie deal--I just want him to disappear!" Poor James. I just like Spike better. Apparently my aging vampire fears go deep.

I wonder if I can convince everyone in my office that it's Wrinkled Shirt Day.