08/07/10 I hum a little bit, smirking as the crowd of terrified DCs shrinks away. "Look at these people," I sing, walking down blue-lit steps, "Amazing how sheep'll show up for the slaughter..." I hit the wrong notes. Annoyed, I start over. Slipping. Scare Factor: 2. This was probably inspired by the conversation I had with Mzzkc the other day, saying I couldn't remember lyrics during dreams. Apparently my subconscious took offense.
07/19/10 I contemplate world domination/destruction. Fortunately for the planet, I still can't teleport. Note: As of July 21, this is no longer true. Watch out, world. I look down at my right hand and count my fingers. "One. Two. Three. Fourfivesixseveneightnine." I get distracted and start counting off random numbers, but I'm lucid by this point, and looking around. Dream goals... right. I wanted to go to Walmart and open a portal to hell. No reason, I just thought it would be fun. I try to shift to a new location, attempting to bring my companion along. I wake up in bed. Except for the part where I'm still dreaming. I know it automatically, but I still do a quick count of my fingers. The ring and pinky fingers are alternately multiplying and fading out of existance, so that's normal. I "wake up" again, but I still know I'm dreaming. I go outside and decide to along the sidewalk at a sprint, just to see how fast I can go. I run up a hill that doesn't exist in real life, surprised that I can actually feel a physical drag slowing me down. I consider the possibility of using running as a reality check. Fragments: I'm driving a Bentley. I'm either Crowley or Aziraphale from Good Omens. Something about one-ways and suburbs. Or maybe that's Suburban (the truck). I can't read my writing. I find my keys. They're hanging from the doorknob of my bedroom. False Awakenings. Scare Factor: 1. I wake up. My keys are still missing. Damn you for giving me hope, Id.
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