And today's two thousand words and change
And yes, I'm too damned lazy to fix the formating to get proper indents. =P
Later, at least. While I may be having visions of myself threatening me, and being uber creepy about it, I still had work, and a life. I couldn't just drop everything to go running willy nilly around trying to find out the meaning of my dreams.
Granted, librarian, single, not much of a social life aside from the occasional club hopping which isn't really my thing, but gets me out of the house on a Saturday night once in awhile, isn't much of a life, but it seems enough that someone, or more appropriately something, out there wants to take it away from me.
Who would've thought shadowy, misty, eyeless demon dream things would want to sit in a library all day long?
I mean, if it would just ask politely, we might be able to come to some kind of arrangement. Maybe she could have my life on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and alternating Saturdays.
Moving back towards the bed, I gave the spot where Creepy McSpookster had been standing, for lack of a better term until I determined whether or not she had feet or not, and made the bed. I caught myself several times glancing back at the foot of the bed, but nothing reappeared, and I just kept looking at the door to my apartment.
As the sun began to make it's presence known outside my windows, the barest light beginning to turn the darkness away, into that dull, bleak grey of the early morning, still tinged with that sickly orange from the lights dotting the sidewalk below, my thoughts began to drift. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, it had been a dream all along. Maybe I had been half asleep, after all. It wouldn't have been the first time that someone had had a brief moment of the dreamworld and reality blending together.
I'm sure Granma would say it was some kind of an omen, a portent of things to come. Or that I was tapping into some ancient power of the Celts, seeing the future and interpreting it through my dreams.
Freud would likely come out and say the gaping holes were somehow indicative of my sexual repression, signifying my desire to be with other women. Man, he was one twisted monkey.
Me? I figured it was just long past time to stop having Thai food before hitting the sack.
At least, that's what I'd be figuring if it all didn't feel so weird, even those moments where I know I was asleep, in the forest of my mind. Yeah, people say how real dreams feel all the time, but there was something about these, and it was going to nag at me until I found an answer, or the images in my mind faded like other dreams.
Problem there being, these weren't like other dreams, were they? And the images sure weren't fading any time soon. Every time I saw my face, like someone had take a drill to my eyes, it made me shiver, and my skin crawl.
Like someone had walked over my grave, as they say, but that was something I really wasn't wanting to think about then.
Or ever, really, but who does?
By the time I was done with the bed, and dressed for the day in a pair of slacks and my favourite purple turtleneck, the scent of fresh coffee just brewing reached my nose as it pushed out of the collar, and I settled it around my neck, then fished all my curls out of it.
Briefly, my mind thought back to the misty apparition spreading throughout the air of my room, much like the scent of the coffee filling up the apartment, and again I could feel my body shudder. A few hours away from this place, in the light of day, was definitely needed.
I padded barefoot across the oriental rug I'd gotten as a gift from an ex-boyfriend one year for Christmas, the only reminder I had of him really, and now all I could think of was that thing had been standing on top of it.
That relationship hadn't been particularly memorable, more bad than good in the end, but I was seriously considering getting rid of that rug now. It had been tainted by that thing, whatever it was, leaving an unseen stain upon it, like its presence in the air, and I wasn't sure I'd ever stop thinking about it, at least not until I got out of this room.
The apartment on the other side of the door seemed normal, more dark than light still, only the barest hints of daylight and artificial light filtering in through the blinds, lengthening the shadows, and aided only by my eyes still used to the brightness of the bedroom.
Light from the door behind me cast a familiar light upon some of the room, but only served to create more darkness in different ways, and I quickly reached over and turned on the switch, activating the track lighting attached to the ceiling, dispelling any fears I may have had of that thing waiting for me out here, waiting to deliver more pronouncements of my imminent demise.
My tv sat between two windows on my right, just as I'd left them, speakers sitting to the sides, and one atop, with two more back by the couch. I walked by an endtable and scooped up the remote in my hand, and turned the tv on, needing some other voice in the apartment that wasn't the one in my head, or the one of any spectral visitors.
Typical news droned out at me. Weather, sunny, maybe a bit overcast, rain tomorrow. The Big Dig in downtown Boston was still going on, and they'd blocked off one of the streets I needed to go down to get to work, so I'd better leave a little early. Yeah, this day was turning out great so far.
Not that I'd really expected them to finish the Dig by now, but after all these years, and all the money they'd poured into the road reconstruction project here in Boston, you'd think they'd be closer, but from what I could tell? The roads were still crap, the city was still congested, and there was no end in sight.
Made a girl want to reconsider public transporation, but such heady decisions were better done after coffee.
I walked from the tv, passing around the coffee table buried in comics and magazines, which often had my friends asking if there was actually a table there, or just a self-sustaining stack of books. With a toss, the remote landed and bounced on the couch, and I made way for the kitchen, which was only barely a seperate room of it's own. No real wall seperated the two rooms, but rather a shelf that was just about chest high on me, and was the only divider between the kitchen and living room.
It came in handy when entertaining guests, since I could cook, or get a drink, and didn't have to shout through walls, and I could keep an eye on stuff in the kitchen easily enough while lazing about on the couch.
I rapped my knuckles against the countertop as I passed in, making sure it was real, a little nervously, but the reality of my everyday routine was calming me down considerably. Also, it was almost like knocking on wood for continued good luck, even if this was more like imitation pressboard, and only barely qualifying to be called wood.
Seeing the sink filled with dishes, all I could do was wince. The apartment was small, and the kitchen smaller, so I didn't have a dishwasher, and I did tend to fall behind my cleaning duties. I hated routine, as much as I was also bound by it, and those dishes sitting there were just mocking me. Not to mention I was starting to run out of clean plates.
Fortunately, cleaning dishes wasn't what drew me into my little haven for fire and burnt animal flesh, but rather my coffee. Sweet coffee. Oh, how I loved the gurgling noise my coffee maker made as it finished brewing up a full pot, just as I felt the cool linoleum against the soles of my feet.
My toes curled, and I shivered, a bit more naturally this time, at the cool feeling, and went up on my tip toes, trying not to make too many squeaky noises and almost jumped onto the small carpet in front of the stove, and breathed a sigh of relief at the warm, shaggy fabric, wriggling my toes in it, as if I was at the beach and walking through warm sand.
I found myself back standing on my toes, however, as I reached over the stove and opened a cabinet, fishing out my coffee mug. I had tons of mugs, but only one was truly mine. The mug I always used, and the one dish that was almost always kept clean. I bought it almost ten years ago as a present to myself, to cheer myself up, and it was christened as my mug, and had remained as such all this time, and had yet to break. Probably the oldest mug in my possession.
It was clay, cast and glazed, and painted a dark blue, all hand made, and speckled with flecks of various shades of blue, and some almost green. It was a little larger than most mugs, which suited me just fine, and was very solidly made, having a good weight to it.
I grabbed the pot, and as I pulled it away from the machine, more coffee scent spread into the air, released fully now that it was away from the spigot the coffee dribbled out of, and I breathed deep.
With the scent of fresh coffee infusing my nostrils, it felt as if all my worries melted away. Coffee had a reputation for making people jittery and tense, but I always found it very calming. I quickly poured myself out a mug, and grabbed some honey.
Yeah, I get a lot of strange looks when people see me putting honey into coffee. I started it some time ago, when I wanted to cut back on the heaping spoonfuls of sugar I was dumping into my bitter, blackened liquid crack, and had been using honey in tea for years, and had decided it would be a good alternative, and certainly healthier than all the sugar I was using, with the taste difference being negligable.
I took one last whiff of the coffee in my mug, added some cream, and went over to the window to the left of my tv, and opened it up. The sky was starting to look orange as more sunlight began to creep around the buildings, and I ducked through it.
As I stepped on the fire escape, I let out a loud yelp from the cool metal, and heard something below jump from the sound and scurry off down the alleyway, knocking over some cans, scattering across the ground, clattering off the canyon walls of the alley.
I hopped up on the railing, my feet swinging freely in the air, and glad to be freed from the cold metal grate they had suddenly found themselves on.
As much as I hated routine, there was a comfort in it as well, and as the sky brightened, chasing away the shadows of the night, as well as the shadows of my dreams, things began to seem normal, especially with the normalcy of doing my usual things, and as the wind blew across my face, warm thermal air rising up from the ground below, both blowing across the buildings, and causing updrafts from the ground, things once again seemed right in the world.