I had a long, extended dream about the world being overtaken by zombies. Now, unlike Cloverfield-esque Alice in Wonderland creatures and a space monster Red Queen, or the world being run over with unkillable eldritch creatures, zombies scare me.

Possibly they scare me as much as my parents. There’s just something about being turned into a mindless creature or being pulled apart and eaten that resonates too closely with my fears about what happens if my parents find me.

That said, would I rather have a dream about my father slowly killing me with an ax, or a dream about having a fighting chance with outrunning zombies in, it must be said, a rather nice hotel where aliens rescued people if they could reach a final glass room? (I think they had the equivalent of BP, infesting the Earth uncontrollably and permanently with zombies, and they were basically saving pelicans from the oil. Or trying to, anyways.)

Okay, zombie dream wins. Plus I helped a lot of people make it out, but not all of them.

I woke up and the Overcow was still clutched in my arms, really quite tightly. Hm. On the one hand, nightmare. On the other hand, not nightmare about my parents.

At some point I would like to be, you know, riding the Overcow through a land of rainbows and ice cream ((A distinct advantage of magical cows over unicorns.)) instead of fighting nightmare struggles to save the world from some fantasy/SF threat, but I’ll take what I can get.