Things are taking their natural course here in jolly old England, and I assure you I’m fine. I’ll definitely make it to the end of the month, because while the situation is kind of sketchy it’s not dangerous per se. At least not yet. I’m keeping in contact with the Embassy, anyway. I didn’t go to work this week — it’s looking like they’ve called off my internship completely, anyway. Classes were all shorter than usual. If it weren’t for the crippling atmosphere of fear ad paranoia I’d say this is the best end-of-a-semester ever.
Obviously I don’t have a lot to blog about. At least, in real life. I have interesting dreams from time to time — it seems a lot of writers do, particularly Lovecraft — and occasionally I get one I might use as a basis for a story. Notably, I never really dream about London. When I’m here,I always dream about home. The first few nights in the city I dreamed about trying to read bus maps, but other than that it’s really been nothing.
Until recently. I finally had my first for-realz London dream, and it went something like this:
I was dreaming about being back home and trying to find my house, which apparently wasn’t in the place where I left it. Then the dream transitioned, because I woke up in my room here and my roommate wasn’t there. This isn’t unusual, because he has to get to work before I do. My host parents weren’t here either — again, not unusual. Apparently everything else about trying to find my house was a dream I’d been having in the dream.
Anyway, I was just getting ready to leave and go to my internship. Except when I was getting ready to go outside I got the strongest feeling that there was something on the other side of the front door — and this was one of those dream-moments where you see something without actually seeing it. I knew there was a person standing just on the other side of the door, a man in a heavy green coat, and I knew he was my enemy. There are three locks on the front door, and they’re all automatic, and when I remembered this I was immensely relieved.
Except, of course, the front door started to open anyway. I reached out and slammed it shut, and there was absolutely no resistance — it just fell backward. It was at this point I realized that the front door has windows and I could see clearly outside. There was no one in front of the door. I left the house, and there was some weird time dilation thing when I walked to the tube station (I also think the majority of the streets I walked through were different then they really are, and I passed some places I know from the States, maybe?). Anyway, I got to the station and, like the house, it was weirdly empty.
This was extremely noticeable because tube stations are never empty unless they’re closed, but I took the elevator down and I was the only person on the platform waiting for the train. I remember thinking that it would actually be kind of neat if I were the only person on the train, though, even if it would be sort of creepy as well. I heard a train approaching through the tunnels — you always hear them before you see them, they sound kind of like something growling — but it never showed up, I just kept hearing it.
Then I saw the time-table and even though there weren’t real letters on it (just nonsense symbols) I somehow “read” that the next train via Charing Cross was delayed for 15 minutes, and I was going to be late for work.
London dreams, ladies and gentlemen!