Who's Afraid of Margaret Atwood?

The title of this post makes sense if you've been writing about Atwood for four days solid. I know you're out there, compatriots. The following all seems very Lady Oracle to me.

About twenty minutes ago, not long before 5 am, I climbed out of a horrible dream and into an empty house. I actually started crying like a big baby. I put on my phone and text my boyfriend - who is in France. I text Mybug on the off chance he was awake (student lifestyle.) I crept out of bed and locked my bedroom door. Then I thought, there's no way I'm getting back to sleep, I may aswell write it down.

The dream is dissipating now but Freud would have a field day with the parts I remember, I'm sure. I was in work. Someone was incredibly rude to me while I was serving them. So I yelled at them. (You're wondering where the scary part comes in aren't you? There are no werewolves or little green men in this one.) For some reason I had to work really late, so I left the building after eleven and switched on my phone. I had a voicemail off the boyfriend, complaining that he was waiting for me to meet him for drinks and had been for hours. Somehow, in the way of dreams, it was still daylight. I was crossing the road listening to the message and drinking from one of those bottles with the sports caps, and nearly bumped into somebody. I looked at his face, and recognised it. For a second I thought it was rude counter man. Then I realised I'd dreamt about him. He leered at me as if he recognised me too and I squeezed the bottle and sprayed my drink at him, then started hurrying back to my work building. He, following me, said something that struck me as incredibly frightening, but I can only remember a fragment of it. The fragment is "...a knife in your bed..." He caught me. I woke up. I cried. It seemed chillingly portentous.

A standard anxiety dream?

I have to get up for work in an hour.

It was nasty waking up so alone.

Cold Front

I'm sitting at an information point huddled into my coat because my work building is effing freezing. The air conditioning is ridiculous today and I've got my little sexy cafe latte ruche top on (order arrived) because normally downstairs is hot as Hell.

I've got the lurgi and I want to be at home underneath my duvet drinking hot chocolate and reading Spivak. Oh, okay, and watching Sex and the City. Or snuggling up with the Boyf who is still warm in my bed. Or even the dog.

Had many dreams about work last night, including ones about Himself (not those kinds of dreams though - dreams about him reading out his CV and talking in the stairwells on his phone, of course.) I don't know if it's because I feel pants and can't be bothered with it but today I am feeling a bit disillusioned with my crush. Not him, just it, it's so annoying feeling like this all the time. And I should really be putting this energy to better use. But I figure I might feel differently when I'm healthy again and at least there's an end in sight - he leaves soon and maybe I'll stop being so silly. Silly is fun sometimes though :)

Food Glorious Food

Do you ever feel like you're living for the weekends? My round ups are getting to be a ritual. Here goes:

I had the coolest dreams Saturday night. In one, I travelled back in time and was working as a slavery abolitionist in the US, but I knew everything that was going to happen in the future. In another, I was furtively snogging Dermot O'Leary in like the corner of a marquee or something (we had white fabric draped over us)! There was a less cool one where it was a couple of days before Christmas and I hadn't done any shopping, I was running out to try and catch a shop to buy my littlest niece a present. Do these weird and wacky dreams have anything to do with the fact that I watched Labyrinth before sleeping I wonder?

Friday night I enjoyed the most splendiforously decadent meal with Boyf. We normally never bother with starters or dessert because a main is usually enough for me, but we thought what the hey, lets treat ourselves. For starters, I had this really yummy asparagus dish with crushed new potatoes and sour cream. Boyf had mushroom and leek soup. Then for the main course I had honeyed duck breast with noodles and stir fried vegetables. My verdict? OTT on the honey. Boyf had fillet steak, it was very well cooked. For pudding, I opted for the Banoffee Pie with cream, which was like heaven on a plate and I was gutted that I couldn't finish it all. Boyf had ice cream, the bore. We washed it down with a half bottle of red, which was really nice too but I can't remember what it was beyond a Cabernet Sauvignon. I think it may have been Chilean? Yeah, I've really just took the shine off the turkey sandwich and chocolate brownie I just had for lunch. The feast was pricier than we normally allow, so thank God my offer of going Dutch was ignored! Brownie points for Boyf: *****

Saturday I did some work on my dissertation and checked out X Factor. It was the first show so it's still in the national humiliation stage. You gots to have guts to go on them there shows. On Sunday we went back over to the park to check out the Godfest they were having. Got there just in time to hear a big sermon about how we don't deserve to be saved but we can be if we accept Jesus into our lives. You all know where Jesus was on Sunday right? Yep, a park in Liverpool. Hope he comes back next weekend or he'll miss the Beatles festival; it's much better. Voices with Soul, who were on X Factor last year, came on just before we left and were talking about how they'd changed the words of songs so they didn't have to say the Devil's words (oh okay they didn't put it quite like that), so they murdered Lady Marmalade: "I'm not going to sleep with anyone unless Jesus is in my bed!" Huh? I liked them when they were on the show too. Shame. Anyway the annoying preacher bloke on before them was waffling about Manchester United and mentioned an unmentionable rag of a newspaper. Lesson no.1 - know your audience. He also came out with a ludicrous analogy in which Wayne Rooney was God. No. Really. Anyway I wasn't converted, more alarmed.

Over and out.