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Fermius Firefly

A Dream Log, whenever I remember the dreams I've had.

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Location: San Marcos, United States

Fermius is a pen name drawn from a series of short fiction I wrote when I published the small press magazine Stellanova (on paper.) I play RPG games to escape from my daily grind as a technology wage slave for the state of California. I eat out a lot in order to do my part in supporting our increasingly service level economy. I am butler to 2 feline masters. If you ask them they will tell you I'm not very good at it, late with dinner, don't have enough hands with brushes in them, and sometimes I even lock them out of their office.

Monday, October 06, 2008

Freaky Freeway.

        Not sure whats been going on in my bio-chemistry lately, but I have been having a hard time remembering my dreams. When I do remember them, they have been quite disconcerting.

        From a couple of nights ago, I was dreaming I was in bed. I rolled over to talk to N, and she was complaining of leg pain. I pulled down the covers, and from the pelvis down she was nothing but bone and gristle. Quite the shocker. That one caused me to wake in a cold sweat.

        This morning, I dreamed I was enjoying the drive home; the lack of traffic, though unusual, was a welcome change from the two footed dance I usually do when driving at 5 to 15 mile per hour. As I made my way up the huge hill in Escondido, I began to become concerned. There were dozens of orange warning signs and temporary ramp signs.

        What was worrying is that none of them were in any sort of language that I could read. I was in the far left lane, zooming along, and decided Id better move right, to put myself in the position of being able to exit if I needed. I was going to get off and take surface streets if I could, figuring that I could make my way home, even if the language had changed, the roads looked the same.

        Well, the roads looked the same until I crested the hill. There were two freeways that split out half way down the rise. No exits until after the split. Id moved over too late to make 9th Street; now re-labeled with some sort of alien glyphs. I couldnt read the signs, but could tell that one of the freeways, from the pictographic information, was some sort of by-pass.

I had moved right, and kept with that decision, only to find that I had chosen the by-pass, and there were no exits in sight. I drove in the right lane, curving up and over the city on the bright concrete ribbon, finding myself hoping I could get off the darned thing before I got to the next county. I looked over the side at the city below, spotting my exit on the old freeway.

I looked at my fellow commuters, and found that many of them were also frustrated by the sudden change of direction.

Ad astra per technica,




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