between the rock and the cold, cold sea

I appear to have acquired a new fascination in music.



I think I like these guys.




And if iTunes were working I'd track them down and spend money on them. Good music, no distracting words.

Have you ever had a dream that was so real and so vital, that when you wake up it leaves you feeling as though you've lost something incredible?

And then you spend the entire day convinced you've forgotten something important.

Not that I'm saying these things are related. It was a weird dream, anyway. Had some serious narrative going. Cross between an epic fantasy with dragons and giant intelligent arachnids and a murder-mystery spy thriller. With a definite steampunkish flavour. Set up like a videogame.

I kept dreaming it through to different endings. The same people, but different endings. Once it ended in a small room at the bottom of several flights of stairs. An office, with oak filing cabinets and a table in the centre with a man strapped to it whom I - we: this was sort of like the Fellowship of the Ring except with dragons and talking giant green spiders with pointy metallic legs - were supposed to rescue, except we couldn't, because there was an Awful Truth that had to be kept hidden, and he was part of it. And that was victory. And once it ended in an amphitheatre and a ballroom, with a great showtrial of the heroes which ended in vindication for our heroes and the condemnation of the villain, the consummation of a great and almost tragic romance and the knowledge that somewhere, in ways I was supposed to have stopped, innocent people were dying. And that was defeat. It ended half a dozen other ways: in wastelands, in catacombs - once, the talking green spider on the team turned carnivorous and ate everyone but me, which was, well. Ugly. There were betrayals and double-and-triple-crosses and unexpected enemies who turned out to have honour and empathy (see aforementioned green spiders, apart from when they were really hungry) and everything was in technicolour with surround sound and sensory input.

There's a bunch of stuff I wish I could remember more clearly, because hell, this thing had better logic than some novels. Certainly better worldbuilding. Brain, I am impressed. Mad scientists and bad politicians and fiercely rival nation-corporations and a rag-tag band of antiheroes complete with tragic (and amusing) backstories? Why do you not give me this when I'm awake?

Haven't had a narrative dream in this much detail in months and months. They're so much fun. Much more fun than the last six weeks, where every dream that I can remember involved being chased and/or eaten by homicidal insects or arachnoids.

I am mighty.

Today, I led three routes at the climbing wall. Two of which were 6As, of which one was upon the roof.

Of course, these were attended with much stopping and hanging on the rope, but still, three routes led. I feel almost like a real climber.

(I also toproped six and nine-tenths other routes. One and nine-tenths were 6Bs, and okay, so the nine-tenths had far too much falling in there, and one was a 6A, two were easy routes on the slab, and one was a 5+ that nearly took the skin off my hands, because I was that tired by then. But still, mighty climbing.)

I have never been this tired, though. This term has been too long, and I am stupid with over-exposure to the world. I don't know, but I hope I can steal some time from the thesis to recover myself.

Of course, my lecturer wants our class to read Anthony and Cleopatra for our own edification over the break, too. At least I have an excuse to avoid my family over the holiday period. Not that this is an unmitigated good.

My to-do list, it grows by the day.

Fascinating life is fascinating.

No, really. Well, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm practically leaking Greek and bible bits, after the last couple of days - and trust me, after a life of avoiding anything that remotely smacked of religiosity, finding myself able to quote at least a few sections of the New Testament is very strange.

Eventually, you can't even take it seriously historically. When you find yourself saying things like, "Paul was to Hellenistic (urban) Christianity as Jesus was to Palestinian (rural) Christianity," aside from the problem of defining your terms - to what extent can you divide urban and rural in antiquity? What does "Hellenistic" mean in this context? - you start saying, well, Paul was the Jesus of the early urban church. Which doesn't make any sense.

Yeah. I left the library shortly after I came out with that. Having eaten far too much sugar - I'm at the point where the inside of my head is raw and buzzing, and I can neither focus nor settle while being too sleepy and unfocused to do exercise. I wasn't about to go climbing this evening: I'd be nervous of dropping someone. Or falling. I like falling even less than usual when I'm in this mood.

Tomorrow I can get back to a slightly more archaeological, less theologically fraught section of history. Joys.

The madness, it has arrived in earnest. Fuckit. I hate the exam season. Where've my 'cheerful' and 'optimistic' hats gone?