Snowbound and Irate

(This is locked down to Dot only.)

Had another vision. No drowning or lashes this time. I snuck back here to MacArthur during lunch; had a phone call that completely killed my appetite. The moment my head hit the pillow, there was...an eye. Not flaming, nor stuck at the top of a tower, just an eye. Like someone was inches from my face, staring at me.

Only it wasn't just an eye. There was...as crazy as this sounds (and that's saying something, when all of this sounds insane)...there was a crow, or a raven. I can never tell the difference. But it was -inside- the eye, staring back at me.

What the hell does that mean?

And on a different note...just what did you tell Hem to make him curious?

I've never done well with silence. Maybe it gives me too much time to hear what's going on in my own head...though I think that may be a cop-out. I know what's going on inside my head half the time, after all. I like it in there; it's warm, and dark, and a little squishy in the right places, and private. I don't necessarily like what I find, though, which may be closer to the crux of the problem.

That, or maybe I'm simply a dancing fool, always looking for a song cue. Which is a note as good as any other for seguing to the next topic. Namely: I've been crowned king! Come on, not Homecoming, I know that's been a regular topic around here with me, but you've got to keep up. No, I got cast as Charlemagne in this year's production of Pippin. I'm kind of glad I know most of the lyrics already, as we're doing a sort of crash-course in rehearsal-and-production timing. Really, I sort of wonder if this was all planned and meant to be some devious drama department development to see how many of us crack under the pressure. (And for those interested? I'm starting a betting pool. Get in touch, we'll talk.)

There was indeed a Black Friday Turkey-a-thon, with a bigger crowd that I expected. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not the only one too far out of reach of parents, and that didn't even factor in not wanting to see family. Dot's turkey was divine, and my pumpkin pies didn't turn out half-bad, so I think I'll call it a success.

That was the high point. The week or more since has been a slow, steady descent into less pleasant times. The weekend was shot entirely for reasons I don't want to get into, rehearsal schedule on top of studying and paper schedule is hellish, and plans for this past Friday? Shot down by a combination of bad timing, unavailable train tickets, and an emergency rehearsal. Which means it'll be two weeks after Thanksgiving, at the earliest, before I get a chance to see Neela. She's going to kill me. At least my originally planned travel companion is still up for the trip. We just have to find time for it. And soon. I can't keep putting it off, for a thousand reasons.

It's been an interesting scattershot of social time across the rest of the week. There was the study break that turned into no study at all, there was some unexpected comfort offered on THanksgiving, there was a bit of chatting about my impending madness, and then? I met someone old who's new again, and I think scared them off. Which was a shame, since she was fun to talk to. Actually, most of the scattershot was up rather than down, just...not peaking above the general downward trend.

Which leads me to my second awkward admission of the day: I don't understand people. Women in particular, but I think that may just be because I pay attention to them more than the men. Most men, after all, are still struggling to rise above the level of barbarians. And I include myself in that assessment.

I don't understand why it's been radio silence for so long. Is it that hard to say "we're over", if that's what you've decided? Or...Krishna, I don't know. You don't want to know how many disasterous possibilities have rotated through my head in the last week.

Unfortunately, there is no excuse when it comes to me. I understand me. I know exactly why I react the way I do, most of the time. But that doesn't make me happy about it, or proud, or...anything terribly positive. Blushing women of the world, lured in by my easy smile and my admittedly charming banter? Get away while you still can. Just trust me on this one. I'll miss you, but it may blow up less in all our faces.

Things I can do without: visions in the shower. I had another one -- they're coming faster. This time, I nearly thought I was going to drown. Things I don't like, number 2053: salt water up my nose. Followed shortly by storm-tossed waves, getting hit by bits of the rigging, and last but not least? Thrown overboard.

It already hurt to take a shower in the first place, after Friday night. Which was fucked up enough as it is. And now this? I don't know. Throwing up what I swear tasted like salt water while kneeling on the tile floor, not the way I want to start today or any day.

I'd be more pissed off if I wasn't worried sick at this point.

It happened again. It wasn't in the shower; I was actually laying in bed, trying to figure out what the hell to do with myself for Thanksgiving. I didn't even close my eyes...or if I did, it was a blink, a matter of an instant.

But it was long minutes, blood suddenly pounding in my veins, the smell of the sea around me again. It was night, the stars spread like glitter across black velvet above us, and blacker than pitch down in the hold save for the single lantern I was carrying. There was a scuffle in the dark, and a protesting squeal from the rats before he was on me. I couldn't see his face, the darkness casting dizzying shadows as the lantern swung desperately as a shield in front of me as I fumbled for my knife. There was the clank of metal-on-metal, and then we fell in a heap of limbs and steel. His breath was rank in my face, the smell of my own sweat almost overpowering as I fought for my life.

Almost as suddenly as it had begun, there was a rush of hot blood over my hands and a gurgle from the man who'd attacked me. I sat up panting, and stared down at my knife, shoved up under his jaw. The ship was suddenly rocked by a wave...and I blinked again, and was back in my bed.

On the one hand, I hope Dot is right. This is close enough to madness as it is, but at least it's not my madness, and it has a source. On the other...well. After that, how the hell can I do anything but worry?

I wish I knew what the hell was going on in this place.

Fuck. I...fuck, I don't know what the hell that was.

Right. I've taken a few more dozen deep breathes. I'm recording this for me, just in case we need a record of my slide out of sanity. Neela, you may be getting more company than you expected soon.

Fuck.

All right: after I finished practicing, so I'm not going to be a total rusty bastard when Slutty Moll has a rehearsal, I went to grab a shower before bed. Everything normal. Water warm, soap sudsy, me naked, yadda yadda yadda. Only when I closed my eyes to lean back into the water to rinse my hair? Suddenly it was...vertigo. The world spinning under me. Because I swear I could feel the wind in my hair, and the spray wasn't coming from overhead. It was coming from the waves as the bow crashed through them. I can still remember the rough bite of the rope under my hand, and the sway of the ship under me. I can taste the salt tang from the breeze. I could, if you set me down, sketch the outline of the islands we were sailing past. Tropical coves, waiting for buried treasure.

And when I opened my eyes again? Gone. As if it had never been.

I don't know what it means. Why the hell am I dreaming of sailing ships? And while I'm awake? I haven't been binging on either PotC or Horatio Hornblower, for gods' sakes.

I'm going to sleep, and hope I dream of large women. Or sun god robes. Or...fuck. I don't know. Anything but that.

(All right. Not anything. Not that again, but not this either.)