all the time in the world
Jan. 15th, 2005 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theladyrose"Loneliness becomes a lover, solitude a darling sin." Where did I read that before? Who wrote it down? It expressed exactly what I felt, and how I felt since I was a child, until I forced myself to ‘fit in’, and be a ‘good girl’ [...] It’s just that all true individuals are lonely people. That’s no credit. On the contrary. Who wants to be a useful member of the clan, has to be able to give as well as to take. The fact that I seemed to be so much happier when I was alone, only indicated a wrong, neurotic strain.
I am becoming increasingly impressed with the little that I have read of Ian Fleming. The quotation above, which seems to rather suit me at times, is from the perspective of Vivienne Michel of the Spy Who Loved Me.
I had two weird dreams last night. The first was something of a Prisoner/Carnival of Souls crossover in which I was stationed in a house that looks like my old Stanford dorm, Grove Lasuen, with a bunch of people I knew and a few who I recognized but didn't know so well. I can't remember who the exact people are now, but possibly some of my old writing camp friends might've been there in a different appearance. We all had some special secret knowledge that we were supposed to get from everybody else without anyone else finding out our own secrets. I don't even remember what my secrets were supposed to be. Various people my age were undergoing a similar mission in the other dorms, and we were allowed to go over to the other dorms to hang out and relax. Essentially any dorm that you weren't living in was a safe zone, a sanctuary. The weird thing was that occasionally everything would go silent and pause, and that person was free to walk around and figure stuff out, and after a few minutes the rest of the world would un-freeze. I eventually realized that whenever anyone said the word, "real," the described occurence would happen. Then there was this big party thing in a place that resembled a department store; it was rather like the Christmas gifts party with the Angels of Death in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. But instead of having a weird German lady chaperoning the event, there were all of my school's teachers. Don't I sound afraid of the administration now? I revealed my hard-earned knowledge to my secret superior, a guy who exactly looked like the Fraz, my English teacher of all people, but who had a different sounding voice. The guy who looked like the Fraz then sent me on some sort of mission in which I turned into a little white light-brown haired girl. Just imagine the end bits at the hotel in Roald Dahl's The Witches with a little light brunette girl with pigtails instead of a mouse, and that's sort of what the rest of my dream was like. I had to help eliminate a bunch of double agents, methinks, but the details are a little fuzzy.
For some reason TV shows and stuff that I really like get incorporated into my dreams. Gah, the brainwashing influence of mass media! The Prisoner was right!
I am becoming increasingly impressed with the little that I have read of Ian Fleming. The quotation above, which seems to rather suit me at times, is from the perspective of Vivienne Michel of the Spy Who Loved Me.
I had two weird dreams last night. The first was something of a Prisoner/Carnival of Souls crossover in which I was stationed in a house that looks like my old Stanford dorm, Grove Lasuen, with a bunch of people I knew and a few who I recognized but didn't know so well. I can't remember who the exact people are now, but possibly some of my old writing camp friends might've been there in a different appearance. We all had some special secret knowledge that we were supposed to get from everybody else without anyone else finding out our own secrets. I don't even remember what my secrets were supposed to be. Various people my age were undergoing a similar mission in the other dorms, and we were allowed to go over to the other dorms to hang out and relax. Essentially any dorm that you weren't living in was a safe zone, a sanctuary. The weird thing was that occasionally everything would go silent and pause, and that person was free to walk around and figure stuff out, and after a few minutes the rest of the world would un-freeze. I eventually realized that whenever anyone said the word, "real," the described occurence would happen. Then there was this big party thing in a place that resembled a department store; it was rather like the Christmas gifts party with the Angels of Death in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. But instead of having a weird German lady chaperoning the event, there were all of my school's teachers. Don't I sound afraid of the administration now? I revealed my hard-earned knowledge to my secret superior, a guy who exactly looked like the Fraz, my English teacher of all people, but who had a different sounding voice. The guy who looked like the Fraz then sent me on some sort of mission in which I turned into a little white light-brown haired girl. Just imagine the end bits at the hotel in Roald Dahl's The Witches with a little light brunette girl with pigtails instead of a mouse, and that's sort of what the rest of my dream was like. I had to help eliminate a bunch of double agents, methinks, but the details are a little fuzzy.
For some reason TV shows and stuff that I really like get incorporated into my dreams. Gah, the brainwashing influence of mass media! The Prisoner was right!
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Good
Date: 2005-01-16 08:14 am (UTC)The meeting on thursday: nothing happened b/c the lady who was going to talk to us about the website was sick so we ended up going to the video people. They were really cool and we got to see a preview for one awesome new toy, but that info is confidential. lol.
Re: Good
Date: 2005-01-16 07:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-18 04:02 am (UTC)