I dreamed last night that an earthquake was coming.
And that we were waiting for it – that it couldn’t be stopped. It was coming, but it was delayed, it didn’t happen at the 12:04PM time we expected it.
For some reason, I was in a room that looked suspiciously like a classroom in my elementary school while all this was happening. There were huge glass windows at the front of the room, which looked out on landscaped gardens, green lawns, trees. Of course, because the quake was coming, the people in the room were under the desks.
When the quake didn’t hit on time, people started walking around again. Some of them were co-workers from my office here in L.A.; some were people I knew from Vancouver. cracksmurf was one of them. He was standing at the front of the room, with his back to the windows, when I saw the ground ripple, like water when a rock goes into it.
I was still under the desks, but he wasn’t – and the quake shattered the glass in the windows. It went right through him, and, predictably, he died fairly quickly, which is what happens when you’re turned into a sponge by dozens of glass shards.
I don’t know if this means that the end of the world is coming for Los Angeles. Or if cracksmurf just needs to watch his back. Either way, I woke up in a cold sweat today. Dreams about 9.2 earthquakes are never fun – especially when you live in L.A.
(Graham, my brain picked you for a murder victim because I was listening to the Tiesto CD yesterday. That CD always reminds me of all those times we drove around Vancouver listening to it while I complained about boys and you sucked back Slurpees. I’m pretty sure that’s why you were the token friend to meet a horrible bloody fate)