This ain’t right.

I want you to get down on your knees and give thanks to whatever it is you believe is that higher power. I want you to know that if I could, I would grow and make this world be what I want it to be. I’m not one of those ethical people that tell you “Yes, I have size fantasies, but in real life I would never hurt a soul.”

I would hurt a number of souls.

So be grateful.

If I were to grow right now, the first thing I would do is lead by example. Taking men and using them for pleasure is not only legal now, but it’s right. I understand the ramifications, given the current climate and given my own existence as a woman… that should be the last thing I want for anyone to experience. Unwanted sexual advances? Yuck! Right?

No. Not right. Imagine that beautiful world in which I exist as I really am in my heart, a giantess that spans any distance by growth, a hand that reaches everywhere by will, and now I’m the president of Everything. There is no power that can stop me. So do I end war? No. Do I stop famine? Not at the top of my list. Do I get rid of crime? Nah. I pursue it.

My first act as giantess is sexual assault. Rape? Can you rape the willing? I don’t know. I don’t even know if Hopier’s really willing, but it wouldn’t matter. I’d like to claim that I would love to leave a better legacy, a true message of love and peace to the world, but I don’t. The first thing I do when I grow is travel for sex, tear off a home’s roof for sex, and rip Hopier away from his regular life for sex.

What does that make me?

Call me a monster. I don’t care. I’m happy at that height. I don’t need heating, clothing, entertainment… because I have him. But there is something here I’m not facing. Lately, I’ve been having really bad dreams about being chased. A few days ago I dreamt I was forced to hop from planet to planet because the Empire was after me. The emperor was a Sith Lord, and no matter where I hid, troops would invariably overtake that planet in their pin-point search of me (and my son… if it had only been me the nightmare would have only been a dream). During the final search, Obi-Wan Kenobi came to my aid as a giant (about three hundred feet in height) and battled the Emperor, who was just as tall, in order to protect my son and me.

I don’t know if you understand how upsetting it is to dream of giants and not grown myself. But then it happened again last night. I had a very upsetting dream about being in a Nazi-occupied territory (in current times), plotting against said invaders, defeating them, and having them come back with renewed force to murder everyone that temporarily vanquished them. Of course, that meant being chased as a woman and being murdered in the cruelest way. Was that the worst part of the dream? No.

The worst part was being chased by a giant worm that had romantic feelings for me and wanted to court me… and not a cute worm, but one of the disgusting-looking ones, and I normal sized. I looked up dreams about being chased, and the explanation appears to be that they take place because there is something in my life I’m not facing. Really?! That can be said about anyone’s life. It’s not a fair assessment to make, and it certainly doesn’t help me one bit. I don’t like dreams where something or someone is larger than I am, and I don’t like being chased when my true nature is to be the chaser.

So give thanks.

If I were to grow, I would chase Hopier away from his life, and I’m pretty sure he would not like it one bit if I show up, all tall and naked and demanding, and tear him from his life. Would anyone truly want that? It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s my experience that no one really wants to be ripped from their life, no matter what they claim. In turn, I claim to be gentle and loving, but I’m worse than the worst of them because I would really use my height to my advantage, without hesitation, without remorse.

I’m the worst sort of sociopath. I would show the world my crime as Hopier screams from the palm of my hand; naked, stripped from family, from loved ones, from clothes and work and chores and shopping and haircuts every six weeks and shaving and job and vacations. Think about the news as they report his giantess-napping. Think about the destruction of any army that tries to rip him away from my side. There is no rescuing. Any special forces deployed to pluck him from between my legs will not only be crushed under my foot, but their families will meet the same fate. As an example to others.

It’s a new world. And I rule it.

Get down on your knees and give thanks it isn’t real.


Some dreams and stuff…

What do you do when you’re having a bad day? What do I do? Sometimes I drink if I can, and lately even when I shouldn’t. I’ve decided to stop that, so wish me luck. Just don’t be so optimistic about it. There is one thing that annoys me to no end when I’m feeling down, and that’s unbridled optimism. You know what I mean. Someone sees you’re feeling a bit out of sorts, and they start telling you about all the wonderful things in your life, and how you are so lucky, and don’t you feel your luck, and life is wonderful, and you suck for being sad about what couldn’t possibly amount to anything, when compared to what they‘ve been through.

Please be optimistic at me. See what happens.

Anyway, I’m having a bad day, so instead of drinking or doing things I can’t do, I’ll do what I can, which is… to try and write about something. In this case, that something is dreams and stuff. About a week ago I had a dream that can only be described as… you know when you go to DA to look for fun mouth-play images, and you stumble upon something… not… right. Something that looks like…


…and I understand people are into body inflation, but every time it stumbles into my path, I want to punch a wall. Anyway, in my dream, someone, a friend or a family member, I really can’t remember, all I remember is that it was a woman… she was asking everyone around her to help her, because she knew that at a certain point in the night, a witch was going to show up at her house, and kill her. So I said, sure. Defend the helpless. How I roll. So I was standing in her living room late at night, and at the stroke of midnight a form began to appear near a wall. Dark wisps of smoke whirled together and formed a human shape that looked like the evil witch in “Snow White”, except this witch was “real” and not a cartoon.

She cackled and her nose began to grow longer, Pinocchio style, as it reached for me. Supposedly, as soon as the tip of her nose reached me, I’d drop dead. Is that what happened? Nope. As soon as her nose tip was within my grasp, I opened up my mouth, and began to eat her. Nose first. Of course when she realized what was happening, she began to scream. She screamed until I swallowed her face, and head, and neck, and… well, you get it. I ate the entire witch, and then looked at my stomach. It looked full, but not inflation full.

I don’t really remember the other dream, except to say there was a glass container of shrinking formula in it, but it looked like yellow, lumpy vomit. And Arnold Schwarzenegger was driving me and a few other people (and the container) somewhere, down a dark road, in the middle of a moonlit night. It was creepy, but I was OK, because I can eat witches.

Well, that’s it. I really want a drink right now, but it’s fucking Monday night, asshole. So I’m going to go take a walk and see if I can get into a fight with anyone.  But I can’t do that either, because I’m a mom, and I can’t be in jail. I’ll go see if I can watch a movie where enough people explode, or become zombies, or both. Wish me luck.

Just don’t be… enthusiastic about it. Do this when you wish me well:


The Tiny Man and the Giantesses

I don’t know how it is for you, but in my case, I have my fantasies, and I have my real life. When I’m out in the world, there are things and people that tickle my giant spot, so my fantasies and real life are forever laced together like a successful Ripley clone. My alien queen always roars in the background. The following are a few wall-crumbling sounds of my soul.

The Dream


In the South America of the 50s and 60s, interior walls were often painted a frightening Cambridge blue that chased me into a dream a couple of weeks ago. I was arranging my dinner plate and cutlery next to other settings at a very large rectangular table, long enough for about fifty people judging by the number of plates and glasses and napkins, when I looked around and wondered where the rest of the party goers were. I was alone in the blue-walled room when I caught the sound of wild cheering coming from outside. I rushed out the front door, and down the few front steps to the cobblestone street that shouted “South America!” as loudly as the colonial-style, three-story building from which I had just emerged. The street was not designed for vehicular transit, but human. It was night, but it wasn’t dark, and it felt like 9 o’clock, because that’s the time I remember people would leave their homes after dinner, and fill coffee houses and pubs to hang out for a while, or promenade along a palisade that always smells of salt and rotting fish. But those are memories, and not my dream.

In my dream I looked across the narrow street, and realized that the sounds of conversation and cheering were coming from the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street. When I looked up I saw a group of party guests cheering and holding sparklers. They all looked in one direction beyond the house I had just exited. I knew I could not look over it, so I decided to grow. And grow I did. I lifted off the ground and expanded in heigh very quickly, and soon was able to see over houses and roofs. In the distance sat a huge stadium filled with the unmistakable sound of thousands of people cheering at the same time, punctuated by louder screams when something interesting happened on the green. I was about fifty feet tall now, and listening to all those little people was the best part of the dream. I only stood there, but just standing there when being that tall and feeling… something for that crowd of tiny people I could have reached within seconds was… nice.

The tiny guy

LoveAndContemptHe wasn’t really tiny, but he surely acted tiny in my head. The taco place wasn’t crowded as I sat there, watching people, when I saw them arrive. A young couple stood waiting in line to place their orders, and as they waited, I watched. I immediately noticed the way he looked at her. His eyes had nothing but pure love in them. I don’t see that often, so I might have stared. When she talked, when she stood there quietly, when she did nothing at all, he watched her as though she was oxygen, the sun, and life, all combined. He watched for the entire time as they waited, and I realized the way she saw him did not contain the same fervor. The way she looked at him was exactly the same way we look at a possession we enjoy. It’s a look I reserve for a loaf of freshly baked bread, or a pair of shoes I adore, or a book I enjoy. It’s a true feeling, but I can do without those things.

As they moved to the front of the line, he advanced tethered to her by an invisible thread, and once there, she proceeded to place their order without consulting him, or giving him a single look. I think that got to me the most, because… what possessor of a tiny guy would do any differently? Would you, as the shrinker, look into your pocket and ask that little guy what he wants for dinner? You know he’s not going to make wise choices, so you do it for him. If he happens to ask for something sensible, you choose to listen or ignore; but you know what’s best. As the shrunken person, you have a voice, of course. A voice that remains unheard if you ask her to get you a thimblefull of tequila when you know very well that you’ve had your alcohol allotment for the week. Foolish tiny.

And then I noticed the way he looked at everyone else around him. It was either contempt, or boredom. That’s when I smiled to myself and started to imagine what their intimate moments are like. How she shrinks him when they’re at home, alone. How he follows her everywhere, always looking at her (or her feet, because looking up all day long gives him such a crick in the neck) with that same expression of love; how he silently submits to her every important decision; how he glues himself to her when she finally lifts him off the floor, and places him on whatever part of her is a favorite that moment. So, nothing to see there, except for what my brain interprets as a Size moment.

The niece and the daughter

BandB These last two involve minors, so I thought about not including them… but I’m not going to be overly descriptive or inappropriate. All that needs to be said is that I was at the store getting groceries, and a storm of a girl (the niece, from what I overheard) walks by pushing a buggy and issuing orders to both children and grownups with her. I instantly thought, giantess in the making. I know her being a bossy child doesn’t instantly mean she’ll grow up to think about being hundreds of feet tall. It only means I like to imagine she will, because of the utter authority in her voice.

She was instructing everyone what to gather for purchase, and how to pick the proper items, what to look for, and in the meantime, she also managed to tell the adults exactly where to stand. She wasn’t barking words, but the conviction that she would be obeyed was as palpable as the cereal her little siblings were commanded to fetch. I was impressed, and secretly wished I’d run a Hogwarts type of giantess school. I would have sent her an owl right away. Or a teleporting mouse. Whatever familiar I decide to use in that universe.

I saw the daughter from a distance last night as I got out of my car at a grocery store’s parking lot. This particular place is a two-story building, and the store is on the second floor. She climbed the stairs to get to it, and when she got to the upper landing she looked down and exclaimed to her little sister and father, “I wish I was this tall!” She said it about three times, all the while fearlessly looking down at thirty or so feet of distance to the ground. I wanted to hug her and welcome her into the giantess world. She looked to be about eight years old, but I don’t care. She’s getting a teleporting mouse tonight, and if her parents don’t matriculate her immediately in giantess school…


…by bad dreams. I’m not sure what it means that not only I slept very little, but when I managed to drift away, I had these bizarre, unsettling dreams.

Dream One

I went to a party where I saw all my old childhood friends, now fully grown. One of them, one of my closest friends in the world, took me aside, brought me to her bedroom, and started berating me about having abandoned them all. She removed a large piece of luggage from her closet, and started removing dirty clothes and old blankets, claiming it was all I’d left behind. Then she pulled me closer, started whispering in my ear frantic words I don’t remember, and finally handed me a screwdriver with the head removed, and in its place a very sharp but rusty tip of a knife had been secured in place. My close friend had gifted me a shiv. What the hell. I stared at it for what must have been ten dream minutes, wondering why she thought I’d need a shiv. I woke up with a start from that one.

Dream Two

The worst one. It won’t sound like it, but it felt like it, which is what counts. I had just gotten home, and had parked the car on the street where I live. I got out, and though it was the middle of the day and it was as unsinister as it could possible get, I suddenly hear voices screaming, and telling me to run. I looked around, and about a half a block away, a little girl stood in the middle of the street. She started running towards me. I thought, in my dream, this is a little girl. An adorable little girl, smiling and running toward me as though she wants to give me a hug. And she was. She was around four years old, with soft brown curly hair framing her cute grinning face, and as she got closer and closer with her arms stretched in my direction, I began to feel the worst terror I’ve felt in a dream, in many years. I bolted from where I stood, and no matter how fast I ran, she gained on me, still laughing. As she reached to grab me, I woke up with a half-formed silent scream.

I don’t usually (or ever, actually) bother with dream analysis, especially when I know there are no answers in those dreams, only the continuation of questions that visit my mind every day, that get answered by two views in my head at the same time. I thought I’d share them here because I don’t ever have dreams where I fear something much smaller than I am. It’s only happened once before. This unsettling feeling would probably not exist if I’d not slept in harmful, short fits. Or if I had a dream shiv.

I need one of those.


Death and water and spies and secret bloggers

I feel ill at ease. I can still smell the salty water on my skin, which I know is only a trick of my brain, a leftover crumb that spilled into this world from the sieve of my mind… but I don’t like it. I sit here typing, and my heart beats hard in my chest. The first dream was a bad dream.

I was walking barefoot on a dock, wooden planks cold already, though there was still sunlight in the sky. It disturbs me I can remember every detail of that sky. I could paint it if I wanted to. The planks looked weathered and cracked, and the fabric of my white dress whipped in the wind. It was a suicide dress, and I was going to throw myself into the water. Shit. I wish I could shake off that remnant of despair inside of me. It’s fake despair, dream despair. But I still hate it.

I dropped quietly into the blue, and time passed. I don’t know how long, but I was deep in it, letting go, still not at peace, when I felt skin brush against mine. There. And again. It forced me to open my eyes. This skin was soft, vulnerable, and as I realized it didn’t belong to someone trying to save me, I knew that someone was in deep danger. I opened my eyes, and saw there was a baby in the water. There was light everywhere, and it was no longer a night ocean. It was a morning ocean, and a baby was drowning with me. It took me a few seconds to find it again, and when I did, I grabbed it, and held its head above water. Her head. It was a baby girl.

I made my way back to shore, and I didn’t feel cold. I felt a sense of regret that I didn’t do what I had wanted to do, and then I realized nothing looked familiar. It was a different place, and different people began to surround us. I sat on planks again, but these were new planks, buttery soft in the sun. I held that baby up, and tried to hand her over to whoever would grab her. She was not my baby, but no one took her. They said things I couldn’t understand. I didn’t know the language, but I knew they were saying something meaningful and reverent. I sat the baby on my lap, and she began to feel heavier. I looked down at her, and she grew.

All I could think of at that moment, staring at that beautiful baby girl was, “why can’t I be you?” Then I realized she was me. At some point, in the water, I had split into two, and the giantess in me had been born into reality. I love that, but my heart still pounds painfully. Ah, make it stop.

Then, the next dream last night: I send two men over to another man’s apartment, as I wanted them to collect some evidence that this man was fit to be shrunk. This dream felt creepy. I feel creepy and dirty, remembering my thoughts while I waited for them to call me from the broken-into apartment, to tell me what they found. They did call me, and told me they couldn’t find anything. I insisted they rummage around a little longer, when the man in question returned, and found them there.

Instead of making a ruckus, or calling the police, he asked them what they were doing there (I could “observe” this from some omniscient “above”), and they told him I wanted to know if he was a proper candidate for shrinking. He told them to tell me he was’t interested, that he had found someone new that he loved (?), and to please leave.

Finally, the third dream, and this one is frustrating because I want to remember the words, and I can’t. I was sitting here, blogging, when a link opened up in the admin section of my blog, and I saw there’s a secondary blog hidden within my blog. A tiny blog, and on it, someone had written me a poem. I remember reading the poem, and loving every word. Now all I see with my mind’s eye is blurry words, in blue font, tiny sized. That was the best dream, and thankfully, the last one. I’m… kinda glad I don’t remember the poem. It might have been truly terrible. But I don’t think it was.


Sometimes I wonder why. It doesn’t happen very often, but say, every few months I do ask myself what it is that happened, if anything ever did happen, to make me the way I am now. Why do I fantasize about tiny men a size so impossible, it will never come true?


I wrote the above paragraph six years ago, and left it there, abandoned it the same way I abandoned by blog. Nowadays, I wonder, but less often. Maybe every year I ask myself that question. Is it DNA? Is it something that happened in utero? During my baby times? Was I struck by lightning? I know it couldn’t have been that time I touched my brother and found out he had stuck a fork in the wall socket. Bzzz. No, it could’t have been that electric moment, because by then I was already inclined this way, like a tower of Pisa no amount of therapy can straighten.

Or can it? There’s someone over there, somewhere undefined, that once told me he doesn’t think about this stuff any more. How can that be? He mentioned it to me twice, so I figured I couldn’t bring up this stuff to him anymore. It’s OK. I have you guys and gal for that, but my point is: is he “cured”? How can someone that was so heavily into this, suddenly be out? And not just out of writing, out of collaging, out of forums, but OUT out. As though the giantess that lived in his brain packed her huge bags, gave him a sad look, and left forever, no forwarding address, you little bug.

Sometimes I wonder if that will happen to me. I don’t think it’s possible, but what if? I’m not the same person I was when I started blogging. I have changed tremendously. My outlook in life did a 180, as did my philosophical, religious inclinations. But this? No. This is still in my head. Both my heads. That little bastard is never moving out. He will grow old with me, and when the day comes that his dollhouse crumbles into dust with my last breath, he’ll totter out and leave with me, wherever we go.

I found the image above in a magazine, I forget which one. It belongs here. Who doesn’t want a giantess for the weather? Despite what Samuel Clemens insinuated, the good weather in heaven is created by the gentle breath of kindhearted giantesses. Of course, if you want to go to hell for the company, I’m sure you’ll find the appropriate devouring viragos. Have fun with that.

And to cap it off, I had a strange dream last night. I was looking for survivors on a field of dead soldiers. At my far right, the sound of battling could still be heard. At my feet I saw a dead man with a note pinned to his uniform. I undid the pin, and read the note. He had written something like, “If I’m dead, take my rifle. It’s a Mosin Nagant.” On the other side of the piece of paper it read, “Take my laptop too.”

There was no laptop, but there was a rifle. I pried it from his cold, dead fingers, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction, as I’ve always wanted a Mosin-Nagant. It was’t a sniper rifle, and my mind told me it sure as hell wasn’t a Mosin-Nagant either. It felt more like a much older, long-barreled Marlin. Still, I took it, and went to my quarters, which were magically untouched by war. As I hid- er, put it in my locker, a Toby Jones type appeared in my dream, and I was suddenly thrusted into an inquiry with the purpose of finding out where the god-damned rifle of a soldier was. A soldier who was very much alive.

I sat there, and said nothing. That rifle was beautiful.

A mega giantess dream

A few nights ago I dreamed I received a pair of boots. I don’t remember the rest of the dream; only that the boots were brown, lace-up, ankle high, and had a thick, soft lining of make-believe fur. Last night I was at a birthday reunion and someone there pulled a pair of boots from a bag, and gave them to me. The boots looked like the ones in my dream. I didn’t say anything about the dream, or thought much about it, because I no longer place any value in premonitory psychic “bites” I receive in my dreams. They’ve brought me nothing but meh, as they are inconsequential at best. Remember that Christopher Walken skit where he spoofs his “Dead Zone” character as he predicts inane events? That’s me and my dreams about the future. No lotto numbers, no presages about terrorist attacks, nothing important or meaningful or useful.

A while back I had this dream that I was watching TV when a news announcer interrupted whatever regular programming to inform viewers about the sudden emergence of two volcanoes somewhere in central U.S. I’m not going to embarrass myself by showing my ignorance of U.S. geography and admitting that when the dream TV showed satellite photos of the two volcanoes, I thought they were in Utah. The material point is that the event was cataclysmic in nature to the degree that mass extinction was imminent, as the volcanoes’ craters were hundreds of miles in diameter, and their ash clouds would eventually cover us all. Naturally I decided to use my growth powers to save the day.

Normally that is the moment in a dream when I feel myself grown, and all manner of tingly fun takes place. Instead, the next second I found myself an ultra giantess. I’d thought that if I also grew the ice cubes in my freezer, I could put them in the craters, effectively extinguishing them; so I found myself carrying a cumbersome amount of ice cubes cupped in my palms and against my body. I looked at “Utah” (really Kansas), and to my dismay I discovered that someone had already dumped ice cubes in the volcanoes, and done a piss-poor job of it. Some of them were scattered about, crushing neighboring cities, and there weren’t enough cubes to counter all the lava beginning to bubble forth from where Topeka and Burlington used to be.

Never mind that my feet crushed thousands more as I approached the pot-sized volcanoes and put them out with my ice cubes. In a normal giantess dream this would have been the time to come on to a city and make out with it, have my way with its citizens in a gentle fashion, kill almost no one as an inevitable consequence… but no. I completed my task and woke up, feeling frustrated and wtf’ed. To prevent this terrible dream from ever coming true, I’m abstaining from making ice cubes for the following twelvemonth. That ought to take care of it.

Another dream….

"Stopping By" by Mity Mite

A few nights ago I had a dream about a shrunken man. Sadly, I wasn’t in the dream, but I don’t think I let that bother me. I’ve had a few dreams about little people living inside the walls of homes for humans my size, and they always stay with me. This little fellow had brown hair, a nice body, and a happy disposition. He made a nice living as a tour guide for other ones his size, and the tour consisted of visiting the various rooms of the gigantic house that was his home, unbeknown to its huge occupants.

The really cool part about the dream is that his friends were all bugs. A roach, a cricket, a slug, various unidentified invertebrates, they all spoke and walked on two legs as they maintained the tour, which even had “rides”. He was the little boss, and in the dream he would bark (nicely) orders: “Wipe that clean!” “Fix that door!” “Repair that matchbox side!” And they would all scurry and tend to every aspect of their job.

During the dream they were only preparing for the next set of tourists, and I got the feeling (it was my dream, so I suppose that feeling came from my natural inclination) that for the little people it was forbidden to enter a giant home. Outlawed, even. This made my little guy a bit of a bad boy, and of course it meant his tours were always packed with curious folks willing to pay top crumb for the dangerous treat.

(Yes, crumb, as it appeared no one paid him with real currency; it was all bolts of gossamer fabric, or earthen bowls of food, or building materials. It was simply adorable.)

*sigh* I wish I could meet a little one just like him, reckless, disobedient, and hot! 🙂 The dream was over before any “giant” people made an appearance.

The ABC's Game – C is for City

“sci-fi3” by Tencyo

I wanted to write something new, as well as create a new collage for this weekend’s ABC’s game entry. I didn’t have the time to do either, so it’ll have to keep. I’m happy with the way I think it will look, but in the meantime I’ll recycle a spectacular dream I had and shared at my old blog a few years ago.

C is for City. I have somehow connected part of my enjoyment of growth with a desire to protect the man for whom I have feelings, and the city in which he lives. That connection manifested itself in a dream I had once. I was shopping in the commercial center of a city, and the streets were packed with people as they entered the shops and skyscrapers that clustered to great heights every way I looked. I was moving along the sidewalk when a large crowd of people turned the corner ahead of me, screaming, running away from something, and heading my direction in a stampeding rush.

This vision was immediately followed by a thunderous blow to the ground, and an arch of rubble and crumbled cement that blasted away from the building that towered to my right as a huge fist hit its corner. As more booming footsteps shook the ground, I turned and ran with the terrified crowd, except I was groaning to myself, realizing I would have to deal with this monster. I didn’t mind the fighting; it was the changing into my superhero costume that I dreaded. See, I carried it in my purse, and I would have to change into it right there, in front of all those people. Funny how I was more affected by modesty than I was about being crushed by an oversized creature’s foot.

I fled for about two seconds before I stopped dead on my tracks; people flew past me without stopping to watch me undress (OK maybe one of them did), and take a slinky, pink satin suit that looked more like something one would swim in, out of my purse. I turned to face the humongous beast, who was a rampaging brunette (colossal humans have made it to every B-movie monster list I have seen) that rose 200′ from the pavement, wearing a pink fuzzy thing a la Edison. She stood and growled on that intersection while stomping madly on people and cars, bending to grab handfuls of victims just to fling them against surrounding buildings.

The dream changed from that sequence of events to my imagining (in the dream) what would happen once I put on my suit. I would grow instantly (the reason why I could not wear it underneath my clothes) to a height that matched this destructive creature’s, and the growth of my suit would “activate” the growth of my teammates, an Asian lady that wore a green suit, and a Caucasian blonde that wore a blue one. I pictured them both rushing to my side, and helping. Sadly, the dream ended with the certainty that the three of us would battle the female “monster” and save the city, but it didn’t move from dream imagination to dream action.

Because of the way it feels to imagine and dream of growing and fighting a scaly, furry, or skin monster, I would do it in an instant. Anything to protect my guy and the city in which he lives.

Well, at least I have nice dreams.

There I am, part of the crew.
There I am, part of the crew.

I did often have nightmares when I was a child. I only have a memory of one when I was six years old; it was such an unusual occurrence that I never forgot it. I only started having bad dreams in recent years. Last night I dreamt my son ran away from home and later called me on the phone so I’d pick him up at a crowded place. The horrible part of the dream was getting there before anyone thought of kidnapping him.

But then the dream changed, and I was suddenly part of the Serenity crew, battling bad guys in space. Of course I looked like my normal self, and not a squid. Actually, I didn’t look like my normal self either, since I was wearing a combination of cowgirl and high-tech clothes. Ya know, the boots, but made of bantha leather; the pants, but made of space-age fabric, the sexy S&W .44 Magnum type revolvers, but the kind that shot ray blasts.

Anywho, after we beat the bad guys we were celebrating, somebody shouted in disgust, and pointed at the floor toward the kitchen. There we saw a flood of roaches and other bugs running away from the kitchen in one direction, heedless of the light and humans around them. Then we heard a series of terrible explosions, and we realized the bugs had sensed trouble before humans the way some creatures do. We opened the ship’s windows to look outside, parked about 20 miles away from the city. What we saw was terrifying: A colossal mechanical bug destroying the city with missiles and rays shooting from it.

I heard someone sigh and say (with regret, as though they had hoped it had been a different foe), “And I had hoped we were being attacked by Iraqis”, and someone else whispered, “And I had hoped we were under nuclear attack”. In other words, the city-sized bugs were much worse than either of the other possibilities. Then a third person said, “We have to call Doctor Who!” at which point I felt great disappointment as I thought, But I’m in a Firefly dream! Not in a Doctor Who one!

Then I woke up thinking it would have been tremendously cool just to grow in my dream as I’ve done before, and squish those mecha bugs. Some of my dreams do make it worthwhile to sleep like crap.