aomakutu: (Andy - Laugh)
Yeah. So last night was Andy Roddick. Who for some inexplicable reason was catching an ordinary train by himself (the platform looked like Southfields but it wasn't a Tube train. >:-/) I realised pretty quick that I was wearing my bright right ADVANTAGE FEDERER t-shirt, only it now read ADVANTAGE RODDICK. I couldn't work out if that was better or worse but stalked him anyway. He sat behind me on the train and we had a conversation about how it was his & Roger's fault that I was into tennis and went to Wimbledon every year. And then we talked about how expensive the WTF is this year and he said he couldn't wait to see it because he'd never been. Which is a lie because we saw him there. Maybe he meant as a player. Then he recognised the woman sitting across from us who was apparently from a place called "Welshbottle" (possibly my brain meant Welshpool?) and then Casper woke me up scratching at the door to come in.

Dear Subconscious, I don't know what this is about. But next I would like Marat Safin or Robin Söderling please. Or you know, you can include more than one tennis player per dream; it's not as if you have some sort of quota.

Weird.

*

I'm going back to the dentist in two hours to have my pre-Crown work done. The appointment takes an hour apparently. -_- I'm starting to feel as if I live there. Aaaaaand the woman is ill so now I have to go scramble to get ready to catch the train instead. Hopefully he won't freeze my mouth and I can go for a coffee afterwards but I'm never that lucky with dentists. -_-
aomakutu: (Roger - Mostly Me)
So I've talked about my odd dreams before. Giant butterflies, redesigned Londons, Philip Glenister shouting at politicians, faeries kidnapping people. I like my dreams. My subconscious puts effort into them, or at least into making them entertainingly random.

But. The last few days, I've sensed a theme. Friday night, I dreamed that Roger Federer had called a press conference to announce he wanted more points/money for winning matches against top ten players and the ensuing uproar.

Last night I dreamed I was at Wimbledon, which for some inexplicable reason seemed to have been transported in its entirety into the Australian outback, and while walking around backstage we bumped into John McEnroe who was shouting at someone else. (I don't know about what. Possibly that Wimbledon had just fallen through the Earth to the opposite side of the planet and they could not be serious about wanting to make it an Australian tournament from now on).

And just now I took a two hour nap, during which I dreamed that my neighbours had opened a Michelin starred restaurant in their house and Novak Djokovic had brought a coachload of friends (for some reason, this included some cowboys?) to try it out and I spent the whole time pressed to the window, wondering if could go and get him to sign every tennis-related thing I own. He saw me. He waved. But I still wussed out, probably because my subscious failed to provide a dream![profile] kindoftrouble to yell at me for not tackling him to the ground for a hug immediately.

So. Tennis players. I never dream about tennis players, at least nowhere near as often as I'd expect to considering it's my only obsession other than Casper to last longer than five years. Dear brain, what are you trying to say? Should I rob a bank and use my ill-gotten gains to become a professional tennis player stalker? You're seriously recomending that as a sensible life direction?

...Sounds good to me. ;-)

*

In other news! I have set up Dreamwidth crossposting. In theory, this will make my Dreamwidth account more interesting but it'll probably mostly change nothing at all. I do have a couple of Dreamwidth codes available if anyone wants one? First come, first served basis. Leave me your email in a comment if you want one (I just typed 'if you want me'. *blinks* Idek what kind of Freudian slip that is).

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