"Well that's just what would happen"
Aug. 22nd, 2009 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
binidjSo I had quite a vivid dream this morning. I shall relate this dream here, not so much because I think it will be of any interest to anyone but rather because if something dreadful really does happen, I shall be in the perfect position of being able to say "I just knew this was going to happen."
I stepped out of the car, leaving my mother in the passenger seat, and looked out over what looked like the South Downs. We were by no means alone in this elevated field, cars, caravans and families on foot covered the green hillside, enjoying the afternoon sun. Looking to my left, I became aware of a ribbon of dark cloud some distance off; the cloud wasn't just dark, mind you, it was black. Gradually the wall of cloud came closer and it was certain that we would be in for a thunderstorm of spectacular (if brief) proportions. As it grew nearer, the crowd downslope from me began to make noises of distress, tiny figures pointing at the looming thunderheads about to pass over us. And pass over us it did and, for the minute or so that it was above us, the world was plunged into absolute blackness. When the cloud had passed, the distress and turmoil below was of a greater magnitude than it had been previously. I recall someone (possibly myself) shouting "look, there's a caravan on fire" though, for the most part, there seemed to be very little in the way of damage. It was at this very moment that I saw a vast plume of what I took to be smoke on the horizon ahead of me. For all the world this looked like a volcano erupting in the distance but, realising that I was in England and that we haven't had any volcanoes for a while, I peered harder to discern what it was that could create such a display. I didn't have to wait long before it became apparent; for in the distance, resolving out of the mist, appeared a gigantic wave the dimensions of which would be measured in fractions of a mile easier than in metres or feet. Just before I woke up I remember noting that if one were to face such a wave anywhere, probably the top of the Downs was the best place and that if I didn't survive it, then at least my final thoughts wouldn't have been "if only I'd been somewhere else."
Now I'm sure that this has absolutely nothing to do with going into hospital tomorrow ... ah who am I kidding, of course it's the expression of subconscious pre-operative anxiety ... but it was very vivid (and quite biblical) so it seemed only proper to record it somewhere, regardless of whether it's utter tosh or not.
They should be releasing the rabid wolves at some point between 8am and noon tomorrow so any positive thoughts to help me through the blackness would be greatly appreciated.
I stepped out of the car, leaving my mother in the passenger seat, and looked out over what looked like the South Downs. We were by no means alone in this elevated field, cars, caravans and families on foot covered the green hillside, enjoying the afternoon sun. Looking to my left, I became aware of a ribbon of dark cloud some distance off; the cloud wasn't just dark, mind you, it was black. Gradually the wall of cloud came closer and it was certain that we would be in for a thunderstorm of spectacular (if brief) proportions. As it grew nearer, the crowd downslope from me began to make noises of distress, tiny figures pointing at the looming thunderheads about to pass over us. And pass over us it did and, for the minute or so that it was above us, the world was plunged into absolute blackness. When the cloud had passed, the distress and turmoil below was of a greater magnitude than it had been previously. I recall someone (possibly myself) shouting "look, there's a caravan on fire" though, for the most part, there seemed to be very little in the way of damage. It was at this very moment that I saw a vast plume of what I took to be smoke on the horizon ahead of me. For all the world this looked like a volcano erupting in the distance but, realising that I was in England and that we haven't had any volcanoes for a while, I peered harder to discern what it was that could create such a display. I didn't have to wait long before it became apparent; for in the distance, resolving out of the mist, appeared a gigantic wave the dimensions of which would be measured in fractions of a mile easier than in metres or feet. Just before I woke up I remember noting that if one were to face such a wave anywhere, probably the top of the Downs was the best place and that if I didn't survive it, then at least my final thoughts wouldn't have been "if only I'd been somewhere else."
Now I'm sure that this has absolutely nothing to do with going into hospital tomorrow ... ah who am I kidding, of course it's the expression of subconscious pre-operative anxiety ... but it was very vivid (and quite biblical) so it seemed only proper to record it somewhere, regardless of whether it's utter tosh or not.
They should be releasing the rabid wolves at some point between 8am and noon tomorrow so any positive thoughts to help me through the blackness would be greatly appreciated.
