Day 59 with the Overherd

Note: Days 55 – 58 were lost in a maelstrom of PTSD.

I must be getting better. I stayed up late last night because, forgetting that I’d been throwing up a lot recently due to anxiety and was going easy on my stomach, at the end of a long day I decided to get a Subway Sweet Onion Chicken Teriyaki. This played havoc with my digestive system and kind of ruined the day.

However, it wasn’t nausea due to anxiety. It let up some time in the early hours of the morning, and I fell asleep eventually without the Ambien. The Overherd were not arranged in any particular way, except I was hugging the Overcow, and everybody else was on the side of the bed I felt comfortable facing.

My dreams weren’t sweet, but neither did they involve my parents. It was another movie dream, this time a murder mystery in a parallel world where magic was an everyday kind of thing. I don’t remember much, but I know it grafted various time periods in my life together.

For instance, I remember the walking. I did a lot of walking, into strange parts of the town where it became shockingly city-like, back then. I didn’t have a car and was trying to live really cheaply. I was walking this time with someone else, and as always, to a specific destination, even if that destination wasn’t one we’d use in real life. For some reason this person didn’t know how house numbers worked, and I myself only picked up that ability after the Years of Zorn and Tharn, but whatever. It’s a dream.

I remember entering that place (which was like the endless twisting halls of the older kind of University building) and coming across a room containing a series of cubicles set up with really nice paneled wood, not like the flimsy walls of most modern cubicles. We were looking for a cube numbered something like 194.196, but we didn’t find numbers going up that high. We did find a coworker of mine, who didn’t know who I was.

The murderer I can’t tell you, because it would totally spoil one of the Marla Mason books. Actually, come to think of it, two of the Marla Mason books. Um. Hm. Maybe almost all of the Marla Mason books. I’m not sure what he was doing in my dream, but dude, THAT GUY. Haven’t gotten him out of my head, because he’s sure as hell not out of Marla’s yet either. (I’m not sure she’ll ever get to the point where she truly, truly, TRULY lays ghosts of the past to rest. Even… okay, that would spoil another of the books, probably all of the books. But then again, it’s not like I’m any better at it.)


We found out whodunnit, although I spent most of my time in a palatial mansion, playing the role of a would-be murder victim, complete in flowing nightgown and really nice bed with a net blanket layered over the duvet; the net was embedded with pearls and was a very nice cotton fabric. To tell the truth, my companion solved the mystery, but not in time.

The victim’s mother was also Aunt Jemima. No, really. Maple syrup and everything. I don’t even use maple syrup on pancakes except when it was given to me as a gift (because that’s wasting money… no, really, another post), and it wasn’t Aunt Jemima syrup.

Dreams, eh? But I’d count it as a neutral dream. Weird dream, but on the other hand, besides the killer being THAT GUY ((If I ever work up enough money, and I know I will, I’m so going to ask T. A. Pratt to write something that makes this guy GO AWAY, but I’m not sure he can do that.)), nothing much especial.