(no subject)
21/11/05 10:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
minervasoloAfter all this stress over whether they'd forgotten to charge me for my fees and whether I'd get a huge fine, it turns out they were paid for me! That must be what the other, apparently identical, letter from the loans office must have been trying to say.
Woo!
I had a strange dream last night. We went on a family holiday to America. We were visiting this city which sat on a wide river. There was this huge penisula with abslutely no buildings on it, right in the middle of the city. I think it was sacred to women, or something. Anyway, we went down into the city, and there were a lot of churches, but most of them had been reclaimed as something else. There was one full of flat, and another with a bar in it. We did eventually find one 'normal' church.
A friend of mine, Joe, (who was for some unknown reason a local boy) had carved a wooden canoe, and was planning to go down the river in it in secret, for a luagh. I spent a lot of time wandeirng around the city wondering what had happened to him. While we were standing on an old section of wall (medieval old) near the still churchy church I picked up a newspaper, which reported that the body of a boy, as yet unidentified, had been found after his boat ahd crashed. Two other boys were missing. I knew that Joe hadn't made it, then, even though there was stil a chance he was alive.
I spent the rest of the time wandering aorund the town half wondeirng if I should go and identify the body, and how I felt about having lost another old friend. It was painful, but only sometimes. The rest of the time I was kinda numb, I guess. I ended up thinking about Kieran, who died a few years ago in Newquay, swimming at night (drunk, according to those who knew him - this bit is true, btw, and not just dreamt). We'd been in the same class at junior school. I'd known Joe (back to the dream again) since infant school, and he lived down the road from us.
I think I will go to my seminar today. I probably won't say much, and I don't I can write a coherent one page essay on poems of the passion, other than "didn't touch me, found kinda dull" over and over again. Oh well. And I've jsut remembered another stylistic thing I have to do to my assessed essay.
Woo!
I had a strange dream last night. We went on a family holiday to America. We were visiting this city which sat on a wide river. There was this huge penisula with abslutely no buildings on it, right in the middle of the city. I think it was sacred to women, or something. Anyway, we went down into the city, and there were a lot of churches, but most of them had been reclaimed as something else. There was one full of flat, and another with a bar in it. We did eventually find one 'normal' church.
A friend of mine, Joe, (who was for some unknown reason a local boy) had carved a wooden canoe, and was planning to go down the river in it in secret, for a luagh. I spent a lot of time wandeirng around the city wondering what had happened to him. While we were standing on an old section of wall (medieval old) near the still churchy church I picked up a newspaper, which reported that the body of a boy, as yet unidentified, had been found after his boat ahd crashed. Two other boys were missing. I knew that Joe hadn't made it, then, even though there was stil a chance he was alive.
I spent the rest of the time wandering aorund the town half wondeirng if I should go and identify the body, and how I felt about having lost another old friend. It was painful, but only sometimes. The rest of the time I was kinda numb, I guess. I ended up thinking about Kieran, who died a few years ago in Newquay, swimming at night (drunk, according to those who knew him - this bit is true, btw, and not just dreamt). We'd been in the same class at junior school. I'd known Joe (back to the dream again) since infant school, and he lived down the road from us.
I think I will go to my seminar today. I probably won't say much, and I don't I can write a coherent one page essay on poems of the passion, other than "didn't touch me, found kinda dull" over and over again. Oh well. And I've jsut remembered another stylistic thing I have to do to my assessed essay.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 21/11/05 11:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 21/11/05 11:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 21/11/05 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 21/11/05 11:59 am (UTC)Thanks :)
no subject
Date: 21/11/05 11:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 21/11/05 12:01 pm (UTC)It's like Mary Poppins, only not.
My Antoni-related dream alst nigt also involved a story that I read in a magazine (which only existed in my dream) and I was really impressed about the plot of said short story, which was about a woman waling around her dead friend's house and trying to work out who killed her (Antoni did it, although I'm not sure why). However, as with your dream it made far less sense upon waking up.
Off topic
Date: 21/11/05 07:46 pm (UTC)