So.

Last night I had a strange dream.

At least, to me it was a strange dream.

I don't usually remember my dreams, so this one really stuck out to me.

Let's see. There was a lot of stuff in the begining I don't remember, but it was relatively detailed. There were things like those old-fashioned furnaces you see in classic New York city apartments, with little pipes and intricate wiring everywhere. It wasn't important, but the level of detail made me somewhat suspicious through the entire dream. I don't know why.

There was a little girl, I'd guess somewhere between eight and eleven years old. She had brown hair, and it was shorter than mine. Maybe shoulder-length, at most. I think she wore glasses sometimes. She was pretty, and I attributed it to her mother.

Apparently she was my daughter, which is something that surprised me.

My apartment was on top of an apartment building, but not really like a penthouse. More like an extra apartment that just happened to be above the rest. I wore the Trench, and I think I usually had gloves, a scarf, and a fedora on, too.

Everyone said I was cold and distant, but I knew I really felt sorry for this daughter of mine, who lived on her own in a mansion someplace away from me.

No idea about the mother's whereabouts. I guess she had passed away, but the dream-me never even bothered considering it.

So this daughter has some vast mystical power, and apparently I do too, though mine is highly specialized or something. I end up hardly being able to use my own powers to accomplish anything I see in the dream, though the people I do work for tell me that I'm pretty good at it. Apparently, I'm like a meta-human from Read or Die, and this story is focusing on my personal life, where my powers don't matter as much.

She uses her powers once, before I met her, and summons the spirits of every evil being and person that has died in her lifetime, and they all follow her around, invisible to everyone else, trying to take over her mind. I remember finding out about this only much later. I guess I was aware of them, but for some reason I couldn't directly drive them away. Or I could, but something told me if I tried, I'd wake up and miss something important, so I had to keep on doing nothing directly.

Then I found out that the spirits were afraid of me, even though I wasn't doing anything to them, and stayed away from me, even though they were trying to get closer to my daughter.

So I stayed close to her and kept them away.

And I remember holding her, and she was trying to tell me something....

...and I woke up.

Much strangeness.

A moment of silence, if you please.

Ladies. Gentlemen. Protect your children from what you are about to read.

Tonight, this very night, a trusted companion of many months perished.

On the way home from an appointment, I pulled my MP3 player from my pocket, and it slipped from my hands. Now, I'm not one to leap to any defense available, but I would like to point out for the record that reality has often interfered with my plans, and it wasted no time taking advantage of another opportunity to do the same, here. Before you could say, "Sweet Newton's first observation!" reality kicked in and enforced the law of gravity on me.

Come now, ladies, gentlemen. What are the penalties for violating a law of physics? Cartoons and anime have been doing it for ages, and no one yells at them for it. But the second I even have the potential to break a law of physics? Enforcement.

There is no hesitation.

My beloved MP3 player, shiny silver surface, polished plastic chrome, and hand-burned CD-of MP3s tumbled to the cold, unforgiving asphalt right then and there.

I gasped in horror and dove to retrieve it, hoping somehow that by throwing myself on its ruined remains, I could transfer some critical essence of my own spirit into it, to give something of me to death, so that it might live.

Alas, that bitch, reality stood in my way again, and mocked me. The player was broken. The lid would no longer latch properly, despite my efforts to stem the seal and keep its vitals contained within. And then, there, to my eyes, revealed by the light of the moon, I saw it.

The disc.

The precious essence of my player, lying there on the ground, inert.

And scratched.

Life has not known as much sorrow and rage as I in that moment, drunken on the intoxicating tonic of hatred and remorse, but that coldly logical spark in the back of my mind insisted that there was a way, there was a way, nature be damned. I searched, a long task involving many precious minutes -- minutes while the player grew cold and stiff in my pocket, to find the missing pieces of the latch. Something was loose inside; but no matter. I knew how to solve this.

A battery was missing.

Inconsequential. A suitable replacement could be found elsewhere. Some suitable ... er ... donor ... in its prime would make my dream a reality.

I returned home, and pretended nonchalance. Nothing was amiss. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

The moment my flatmate's attention was drawn elsewhere, I fled to my study, frantically wrenching the player and all sundry pieces from my coat to fling them to the desk. Tools. Tools. I needed tools to go about my grisly business. I paused only long enough to lock the door, secure in the knowledge that no one could disturb my experiments now.

And then ... as gritty and repulsive as the task was ... I made the first incision.

A simple cut, through the friendly, once lovely and flawless label on the bottom, to reveal the first of the screws.

Hmm. No screws there.

Well, time could heal all wounds, and it would forgive me, once I defied nature itself!

Proceeding onward, I wrenched open the un-latchable lid, not turning my head aside for a moment as I beheld what should be hidden from man for all time. I confess. I may have looked away for a moment.

Nonetheless, I turned back, and began the fiendish task of unscrewing all four sealing bolts.

A grisly, demented process it was, but what man of medicine -- NO! -- science was I to refuse work when the tools were already there? Had I not a magnetic-grip screwdriver with interchangeable heads, ranging from six sizes of Philips and flathead? Fourteen sizes of hex bolts? Even a breathtaking ... eight ... star hexes?

Pity I only got a chance to use the one Philips, really.

But in short order my work was done, and I, like a boy, breath quickened with anticipation as he opened his presents on Christmas day, prepared to lift off the inner cover and behold the very workings of the machine itself! Yes! But ... what was this? Defied! Nature stands in my way once more, for evolution has seen fit to provide this player with not only screws to mount it, but plastic prongs that hook in?

Fiendish.

But I had no qualms at this point. No hesitation. I had already gone this far into the process, up to my elbows in parts and removed screws (an awesome four, all told), and quickly exchanged the Philips head for a flathead.

I paused only a moment -- a moment, I assure you -- to study what would become my most beautiful creation. Licking my lips with nervous anticipation, I wrenched, prepared to lever the thing open and lay about the grisly innards!

My anticipation was not rewarded for some time.

Regardless, I persevered, and in an explosion of minute plastic springs, the inner workings were revealed.

Mankind was never meant to play with such beauty, nor even behold it. But I was not balked! Nay! Neither reality nor nature could stay my course, now!

With frenzied motions, I began to put the plastic pieces back in place, one at a time, delighting in the way I realized they worked, they fit together within the system, that they ... dare I say it? I dare! The way they gave life to my MP3 player!

Cackling with fiendish glee, I reassembled the entire thing in total, rendering my newmade patchwork golem complete. Lacking only ... the power of electricity.

Unable to find a decent lightning storm, I plundered spare batteries, and tried the player again.

But wait. The disc. The disc is missing.

No matter -- my hands cannot be more sullied at this point. I delved into the trashcan where I had dropped the disc previously, and wiped it briefly with a soft dry cotton cloth from the center outwards, avoiding any circular motions. Good enough.

I put it in.

Then, I pressed the 'play' button.

And what happened next, I must tell you....

Ladies. Gentlemen. You may wish to be seated.

For you see.... My creation....

LIVES.

Also, I flubbed an interview badly.

Bummer me.

G'night!

Shingetsutan Tsukihime, winner of the coveted "Obsession of the Moment" award.

I give it a full eight Tin Sugar Cubes (that's of a possible eight, for those of you who are wondering).

I like it.

It makes me happy when I'm sad, which is pretty wrong, since it's a very dark and gritty story.

I find it somehow vindicating.

I don't know why. But after spending most of the day depressed, it cheered me up. A fact for which I am vastly grateful.

I could put content in this post, instead of just nattering on that I liked it and fulfilling my self-imposed requirement to post at least once a day, but I've decided that I should try my best to post meaningful stuff whenever possible, or just a short note that yes, I am still alive.

Also, I have a good excuse. I'm working on Diamonds in the Rough again.

That little spot where all of my fanfics got erased depressed me quite a bit. Now to get back into the groove.

WAGE~!

Today was the Halloween party thrown by Ser and Madame Buffington.

So, I, being my normal lazy and flaky self, whined via phone to get a ride, and ended up getting to their place with my requisite pot-luck offerings. Cheese, crackers, and cupcakes, a 20$ investment.

But hey, the cupcakes were on sale for 5.00, from 16.99, a value I couldn't pass up (apparently, they depreciate in value by 60% for being sold on the day after Halloween.

So, we get back to the place where the party is before the party starts, and it comes to light that pretty much no one is really ready for the party, and things need to be done. Cooking, decorating, etc.

I offer to help out with the cooking because I don't feel like decorating. Mistake on my part, as I ruined the deviled eggs.

Anyway. About this time, while I was puzzling out how to salvage ruining what I had offered to do to help, someone tells me in a condescending, "You can't do anything right," tone, that she'll do it, since it was obviously her idea to bring deviled eggs first.

Let me make something clear about this; this person is, in reality, quite probably my least favorite person in all reality. That probably means very little, because I make it a point not to dislike people whenever possible. Regardless.

She is the reason why I don't like furries. She emobodies every value of the 'bad' furry to exist, from the annoyingly shrill voice to the constant references to 'paws' and 'litter boxes' (since 'hands' or 'washrooms' are apparently unpronouncable to her). She is the most attention-whorish person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. She feeds off attention, and she doesn't seem to like me because I don't care. She is so self centered I hate myself just for being near her.

So I left the party.

Woohoo.

I was really looking forward to hanging out with friends, but I'm going to have to ask this now.

No offense, guys, but if Rose is invited to an event, don't offer to include me.

My options will be to either grow increasingly bitter by having to be near her, or decline as politely as possible. This is no snap judgement; I've disliked the way she's acted every time I've seen her. If she's a deeper person than the insipidly shallow persona she's demonstrated to me, she should really consider not acting the way she does.

This is not me saying that you should pick one of us to be friends with, this is me saying, as a friend, respect the fact that I don't want to be around her. I have no problem with being involved with you guys or doing things.

As long as she isn't there.

Ugh.

Well, my day is pretty much shot, now. Spent most of the morning getting psyched up for the party, and then couldn't go because someone annoyed me too much.

So, a quick message to all furries out there: I personally challenge you to be better people than her. I can't imagine it's hard. I don't personally know a single furry who bothers me at all, let alone as much as she does. But whenever I see or read internet discussions about 'bad' furries, she immediately comes to mind.

Now. I'm going to try and do something useful with my day.

No bets.

Happy Halloween.

And such.

So, I slept in today. That was nice.

Then I went to an interview, and I think it went well, but you never know.

Then I went to visit my parents, and we watched a movie called 'Dreamcatcher'. And let me tell you now -- this is a movie that screams, "I was a brilliant book!"

It was not, however, a brilliant movie.

Some might go so far as to say it was notably un-brilliant.

But it was kind of fun anyway. I mean, I got to visit my parents, and that's something I'm horrible about.

When I was getting ready for my interview, I found my first gray hair today. Actually, it's not gray. It's white. I wonder if I have a tiny scar on my head that caused it, or if it's normal for people my age to get a single white hair or two, or ... maybe it's a supernatural haunted/cursed hair and it presages my death.

I don't know.

I also know that my lack of knowledge makes me unhappy. I desire to be more knowledgeable, and in a true enough sense, my desire is the root of my discontent. I want many things I expect I can't have outside of my dreams or perhaps some distant afterlife.

As I learn more of the Tao, I think it begins to say that knowing less, and not desiring to know more is the secret to being happy. But that saddens me, because even if 'ignorance is bliss', I don't think I'd want to not know anything. I know there's a balance, but I don't know how to find it. I think I'm drawing closer, but I'm no longer assured of this. Perhaps I will meditate tonight and ponder this.

Or perhaps I'll just sleep, learn not to worry, and everything will work out.

Another subject change. I notice that people tend to become more philosophical or willing to turn to religion when in dire straights. Is it that they no longer believe that they truly have the potential within themselves to overcome their hardships, and that they want to try and find a convenient excuse to be strong enough to withstand their trials and tribulations? For Christianity, at least, while they may claim that their faith protects them, they also say, "God helps those who help themselves."

I think often people who say that their faith in religion makes them stronger are just saying that because it's easier and more acceptable to them than saying, "I'm strong enough to forge my own destiny." Maybe it's a fear that cows them into conforming, and maybe, if that's the case, it's really not strength; it's accepting one weakness in exchange for another.

Maybe, I'm getting way too freaking convoluted in my little existentialism thoughts, and should really just relax.

And maybe sleep is a good thing.

I think sleep deserves more attention than, "Will I get that job?" or "What drives man to seek religion?" right now.

Peace till tomorrow, when I report how the party went.