Sweet dreams are made of this...

Woke up this morning too groggy and too late to write down the strange dreams I had last night. I can't remember but pieces and bits of them. Which means if I didn't mention you, it's not because you weren't in them, it's probably because you had a bit part. There were a lot of cameos, of everyone I've ever met practically. Like Lily and me, in an eighteen-wheeler, me in my bitch boots and the new brown dress I got, her in...if I remember correctly, nothing. And we stopped at an intergalactic truck stop for fuel, and, well, it turned into some kind of white trash lesbian porno version of The Last Starfighter. I just remember that the brown dress was very important, as was the fact that I was wearing no underwear. These two facts came up again and again. And the one about Ryk showing up at my place in a fighter jet to take me on a weekend vacation to Acapulco, which turned into more of my standard-issue erotic dream. That is to say, somewhere about the middle of the classic beach scene where one is stripping the clothing off of one's partner and saying things that make scriptwriters giggle, he sprouted octopus tentacles from his groin and attempted to rip my tongue out with a pair of visegrips before trying to strangle me. Octopus tentacles. I remember the little sucker discs. And Jorath taking me on a date to an expensive restaurant on top of a tall building, tux and evening gown style, in which we were served cedar shavings and hamster pellets, and I think the glasses were full of urine. I don't know. I don't remember drinking any. And Jefe trying to kill me by wrapping me in bedsheets. I think it was while I was nominally sleeping. I don't know how I knew it was Jefe - because he was naked and wearing some sort of hideous hobgoblin mask. Or maybe it was actually his head. He had very sharp pointy teeth. And he was trying to wrap me up so that just the tasty bits showed, so he could have a snack. That's what he said any way. Phloxin, you and your dogs were all melted into one person with about ten legs going every which way, but I don't remember any more than that. Except the dog's head coming out of your chest. I think it was rabid. And there was a crowd of people around us, and I think we might have been boxing. It was all a mishmash of dreams, segueing into each other in that way that dreams do, jumping back and forth between them, disjoint. The only person I'm fairly sure wasn't in them was Angel. I seemed to recognise everyone else at one point or another. And I spent all of the dreams either naked or in the brown dress. Which worries me. I haven't even worn it yet. Maybe it's a bad omen.