On Dreams

I worry an incredible amount. Earlier this week I received a work email that sent me into a wild panic and looks set to make my life a misery for at least the next month. As I read it, I could hear the blood pumping through my veins. My colleagues' conversations became background white noise. My stomach churned. And that night I didn't sleep.

In actual fact it's really not that big a deal, but worrying comes naturally to me. It's my talent. My superpower, if you will. It's not just work I worry about - it's family, friends, the future, the past... I'm worrying about you now. Yes, you. Are you bored? Am I coming across as pretentious? Are you even there? Is anybody out there? It's no wonder I'm going grey.

But fear not; for I have discovered an incredible truth. But in order to explain it, I need to tell you about the 'dream' I had the other night, before the aforementioned insomnia began.

In brief, I was at a school fete with my friend [Stacey Slater from BBC's Eastenders] when I realised I had no money. Stacey suggested I borrow some money from the Loan Shark Stall. 'How handy' I thought, as I skipped off in the loan shark's direction. He lent me £14, to pay back at the end of the fete. I stress here that no other terms or conditions were mentioned. He later tracked me down and informed me that I now owed £15.40. 10% interest was to be added to the initial sum every hour it remained unpaid [I'm actually quite impressed that my subconcious can work out percentages when I can rarely do it when I'm awake]. I protested, but the bloke was massive and mean-looking so I went to pay him back and get the hell away. But the stall was abandoned. Stacey told me to leave the money there, so I did, and we left. Before long, however, we were being chased through back alleys and side streets by an angry loan shark demanding more money. He caught up with me, pushed me against a wall and punched me in the chin. Then, I woke up.

Because I'm addicted to the snooze button on my phone, I immediately went back to sleep and had a weird 2 minute mini-dream about my teeth falling out. In my dream, I was completely unfazed by my sudden lack of teeth and went to work anyway.

When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I was shocked to discover that my chin actually hurt where the loan shark had hit me. This can only mean one thing; that - Stacey, the loan shark and the school fete - is my reality. This - work issues, greying hair and the football team I support beset with injuries - is my dream-world. Yes, this may well be a little bit Inceptionesque, but it's the only logical way to explain it. Upon realising this, I felt strangely liberated; all this work and woe was just a dream. In a few hours I'd 'wake up' and return to the world where I'm a crazy, cool, calm and collected individual who rubs shoulders with celebs and isn't even bothered when his teeth fall out. I am that man.

According to my colleagues, I am not that man at all - I have merely lost the plot. And of course they are right. But I'm in the middle of a period of what-the-fuck-am-I doing-with-my-life angst*, as are the writers of many of the blogs I read and it was nice, for a moment, to think that I wasn't really me and that I wasn't really here. And that whatever happens to me during the day, I can wake up from at night.

* Would that be existential angst? I'm not sure it would be, because I'm not worried by the fact that I exist, but that my existence is so rubbish. I studied French philosophy but have a habit of burying things that make my brain ache as soon as I don't need them any more.

Just Finished: The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

Last night I awoke from a dream about being stuck in a lift convinced that there was something spooky in my room. There wasn't, I don't think, but I was stuck half way between being asleep and being awake. This happens to me quite often - earlier in the week I convinced myself that the moon was moving to a different point in the sky each time I shut my eyes. I realise now that I didn't just shut my eyes, I fell asleep for ages then woke up again and so the moon had actually moved. Yes, I had had a drink. But alcohol was not what made me think my room was haunted - that was Sarah Waters' fault.

The Little Stranger is set after World War 2, in Warwickshire (which is where I went to university, incidentally). It follows a doctor who, over the course of the book, becomes close to the upper class family who live in a big, old house. Yes - I see what you're thinking - a big, old house, a ghost...it's been done. But this is a very clever book. Firstly because it moves incredibly slowly without being boring. It's a long old read before even a whisper of paranormal activity. What's even better is the books commentary of social change in the postwar years - the rise of the middle class, the decline of the aristocracy, even woman's rights. It was evidently a tumultuous time, and Waters captures in a really vivid, detailed way.

And it is spooky. Very spooky. It's like the only sort of horror film I'll watch: one where you don't see what's scaring you or what people are running from - the monster is in your imagination and you can only see its traces. Take Signs for example - brilliant film, until you see the shit alien costume and find out it's scared of water. Describing just enough, but leaving the rest to the imagination is the best way, in my humble opinion, of really scaring the b'jesus out of someone. And that's what this book does. Anything that wriggles its way into your subconcious so that you wake up thinking there's a dead Edwardian child in your room must be pretty effective.

Next up: Mao's Last Dancer by Li Cunxin...not something I'd normally choose (it's an autobiography for a start, which I've never been into) but I've joined N's book club...my first one. Eeek.

PS Well done FFC for holding out against the mighty Hamburg...COYW!

On The Saga Continuing (And TbR Foreseeing His Doom)

No really, I actually am going to keep talking about this. At the risk of making myself sound totally insane, my battle with the Why-Won't-You-Die-Pod is far from over. After my drastic actions last weekend, we had one day of good music together. One fine day. The next day my head phones broke (He did it! The Pod! It was him!). The day after that I developed an eye twitch like the one I referred to, in jest, in my previous post! I think that settles it - there are no other explanations - my I-Pod is possessed by something far more powerful than I. I admit defeat.

FYI the eye twitch has since subsided. I get it sometimes when I'm really tired...does anyone else or is it just me? I tried to find a quick fix online but my search was in vain, all I found was a website telling me to do the following:

a) Cut down on caffeine

b) Don't get stressed at work

c) Reduce my alcohol intake.

Now, these are silly things to say and I'll tell you why. If I were to follow option a), b) would become considerably more difficult and c) would probably be impossible as I'd drink (c) to cope with the stress (b). I can't really turn b) off, but I know that coffee and alcohol are important in keeping my work life as stress-free as possible. I could, and probably should, do c), but I'll wait until next Tuesday, because I have planned a night out at which I simply must drink. Oh, and Thursday. I'll start Friday.

From the initial disappointment surrounding my lost battle with the Pod, I move on to another: the Icelandic volcano. I completely understand why the airports have closed and I for one wouldn't want to risk flying; my sole disappointment is that I didn't read the newspaper article in full, and so spent most of Tuesday hoping to see a giant cloud of ash in the distance, looming over the tower blocks, perhaps even floating past my 5th floor window. I now realise that it's far too high for my twitchy eye to see, but it would have been something to tell the grandchildren had it happened my way.

And finally, the prediction of my doom. I had a dream. A dream of what I believe to have been the End of the World. It started in my living room. I looked out of the window and saw five shooting stars. I said, "Oooh! Look at those shooting stars!" Then they crashed to earth (for anyone with any knowledge of the county of Essex, I'd say they landed somewhere around West Horndon). Panic ensued. I woke the house and noticed a horse in the garden (completely random and unrelated, but I have to stick to the vision as it happened lest a detail I miss is important). The back garden was all of a sudden consumed by flame and thick black smoke. We rushed downstairs, jumped in the car and made our way straight for the mushroom cloud (of ash!) at the point of impact. WE WERE GOING TO SEE THE METEORITES THAT SET OUR HOUSE ON FIRE. And we were all quite excited. It felt like a holiday ("We'll go to the zoo, and the beach. And we mustn't forget the epicentre of the apocalypse!"). This is where my vision ends. I wonder if it should be analysed? What does it mean? Why am I dreaming of such terrifying situations? Why did the good clan TbR head into the eye of the storm? Are we hurtling towards disaster? And where did that effing horse come from?! So many questions, so little sense.

Have a great weekend everyone!

TbR

[Please note that I am not, in fact, completely mad and don't really believe that my IPod is out to get me, nor that I have any measure of prophetic ability. I promise I'm not a complete loon.]