Wednesday, March 16, 2005


I woke up trying to scream this morning. All that came out was a few muffled moans, until the sound of that woke me fully and I sat up suddenly and yelled AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaggggghhhh. John was shaking me and saying "your dreaming, you're dreaming".

Indeed I was dreaming, but it was more of a nightmare (funny isn't it how there isn't a word "nightmaring" to describe the act of having a nightmare). I was in a kitchen somewhere, and the floor was at quite a steep angle, making it hard to walk. Cold light was coming in through a cracked and cobwebbed window, the walls were grey and dusty with gullies of broken plaster exposing the lathes beneath. Someone was a bit ahead of me, had just gone into the next room, and shouted back "Mind the insects".

Immediately I whirled around to see a huge wasp, about two inches long (!!!) which made a dive for my right forefinger. It jabbed its sting into the middle section of my finger and I swear I felt the pain and screamed. I tried to shake it off, and to shout out for help, but all that would come from my mouth was a strangled gurgle, until I woke to my own shout.

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