Sherlock Holmes and the Swamp Thing Bigfoot

Sherlock Holmes and I worked to solve a mystery of a dead camper in the Adirondacks. We found some unusual tracks and marks… Eventually we traced them back to a society of indigenous Neanderthals and/or Bigfoot that live near Lake Placid.

They’re much bigger and taller than us, with fur-like body hair, but they wear animal skins for clothing and have a democratic society. They’re rarely seen because they can also breathe water, so if pursued they just walk out into the lake and stand on the bottom until the pursuers go away. They can make their skin fluoresce on command, so they don’t need fire to see or move through the water or the heavy forests.

One of their children accidentally killed the camper. I sobbed. I don’t remember how Sherlock decided that we were going to resolve the case, only that we couldn’t take this tiny confused person out of their society into ours for punishment.

That covers about a third of my dreams last night but the act of writing it down erased the rest.

I wish dreaming burned calories. I’d weigh 90 lbs soaking wet and eat half a moose daily.

Really, brain, dinosaurs?

Fun facts from my nightmare-filled brain, sorted from creepy to crazy:

  • The longer you’re pregnant, the more of the baby’s features you can see through your stomach. When you can see the baby’s eye color, you have about 24 hours until labor sets in.
  • Human/Tyrannosaur hybrids are a thing, and you might already know one.
  • Before running any kind of medical testing the hospital will lock you and 11 other strangers in a conference room with a big oak table. You’ll be naked because they’re going around to take everyone’s vitals. You won’t mind.
  • Everyone is given a personals samples bag to ensure you can all brush your teeth. Your bag will be about the length and width of a tube sock but contain full-size containers of: toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, another shampoo, another conditioner, toothbrush, comb, napkins, mouthwash, razors, hairspray, and leave-in conditioner.
  • One of the women in the group will fall in love with the tyrannosaur and leave her husband and child to live with him. They spend their time roaming museums, often in their bed clothing
  • The tyrannosaur, by the way, started out looking like a normal guy, then turned into a flesh-colored dinosaur, then into a cross between the T-Rex from Meet the Robinsons and the toy T-Rex from Toy Story but had Wallace Shawn’s voice
  • when your brain starts injecting jokes about the flash-forward and flash-back scripting of your dreams, you’re about to wake up.

I just woke up and I’m already tired.


I was asleep when the alarm on my IV pole started going off. I woke up enough to read “GLASS CLASSPIDS” rolling across the marquee in red lettering. No clue what that meant so I hit the nurses’ station bell and tried to fall back to sleep.

Holly had only been in here 20 minutes before, to shut off an equally annoying IV alarm, and I knew it had taken her a few minutes to respond then because of another patient emergency, so I didn’t worry when she didn’t show up right away. I fell back to sleep, but the alarm continued to sound, so I didn’t get much more than a few fitful moments of rest before I was up staring at the GLASS CLASSPIDS alert again.

I tried ignoring it two or three more times, with no luck. Finally upon re-waking I realized that the IV pole’s manual was out on my bed, flipped open to the apart for GLASS CLASSPIDS.

It said:


This woke me up firmly, and I realized there was no alert on the powerless IV pole, nor was the a manual. According to Google there’s no such thing as a glass classpid. There’s just my lizard brain trying to get the attention of the sleeping brain bits using whatever metaphors it thought would work in my current envoironment.

I drank two cups of water from the pitcher at my bedside and started typing this up… And my GLASS CLASSPIDS feel much better now, so I’m going back to sleep with the hope that lizard brain doesn’t find anything else to harass me about before 7am.

It was famous comic people night in Anne’s head

I had a beautifully long post here about a very strange dream I had.

I met comic author Lea Hernandez and her son at the supermarket, and they helped me find the right yarn for the project I want to knit (it was in the refrigerated section between the Coca Cola and the milk), and we all got free cookies that Fox picked out because i won a contest at the supermarket.

Then I went to a party with my friend Steen and her daughter at a ski lodge, where some of the guests from another party, including Neil Gaiman, thought our party was cooler so they joined us. (Neil had planned to hang out with Scott McCloud and Amanda Palmer, but Scott was sick and Amanda was in New Zealand. Scott, if you’re reading this, get well soon! Amanda, I don’t know if you’re really in New Zealand right now, but it sounds awesome.)

Then we all went back to my house (which wasn’t my house – it was located where my parents house is, but it was my friend Camille’s parents’ mountain cabin from that trip we took 20 years ago) but we got lost on the way. This happens so often in my dreams that it didn’t even stress me out (this time). Friends shouldn’t let friends dream and drive. But if you have to dream and drive, it helps to invest in a good dream-based GPS, which apparently I had with me, in the purse I carried in high school.

Once at my house, we figured out who would be sleeping where (Steen and her kid got the big bed because there was a Tinkerbell decal with “Christine” over the bed, and Neil Gaiman was totally OK with taking one of the two twin air mattresses on the floor. My brother took the other one.) and we got down to the task of partying, which consisted of some people jamming on the guitar, others talking about writing, and still others playing Killer Bunnies.

The reason I wrote this beautifully long post was because as I wrote it, I realized that a whole bunch of situations that would have totally stressed me out when awake (like, how do you ask an autistic kid to help you at the supermarket? Is it rude to just assume he could and would help? And how do you say “Just pull up a chair,” to Neil. Fucking. Gaiman? And is it really OK to give the only guest bed to the person with the kid when you have people with bad backs and people who get cold easily and famous people in the house? And why do all my dream parties look like high school theater cast parties?) totally failed to stress me out at all.

In fact, I woke up because in the dream I was starting to stress out about what I looked like and suddenly had the need to put makeup on (which, by the way, I screwed up. I painted lip gloss on my eyeball, trying to use the lip gloss as eye shadow) and guests started asking me questions like “Do you really think Neil Gaiman wants to be at YOUR party?” and I realized I must be dreaming because I hadn’t been stressed out about this stuff the whole night and it was stupid to put on makeup just because someone famous I wanted to be friends with was at my party.

It turns out I am a much better person when my left brain is asleep, because my right brain doesn’t care if people might be offended or might think I’m a no-talent hack or stupid or ugly or I haven’t updated my comic in months. My right brain says, “say hi, be polite, and you might get something awesome.”

My left brain tries to put green lip gloss on my eyeball to make me look pretty for my guests, all the while telling me I can’t possibly look pretty enough for them to like me. Like whether I look nice was going to matter to Lea Hernandez and her son.

And then I had to exit the post for a split second because of an incoming text message, and WordPress ate the entire goddamned beautiful post.

I lost easily a half hour of writing, nuance, and description on a dream that it now rapidly fading from my mind as it’s replaced by grouchy dog whining.

So goodbye beautiful post and beautiful dream, good morning world, and fuck you WordPress app. I’m going to go feed the dogs.


I remember that a whole bunch of my family were staying at a cabin-like place and the place had giant chicken-like birds that we were supposed to be taking care of while we were there. But a huge part of the anxiety about this cabin was trying to get all the beds in place so we all had somewhere to sleep and none of the women had to share a bed with a guy they didn’t know (because apparently a bunch of work people were there too.)

There was also a major shortage in bathrooms but an overabundance of closets, all of which had the exact same stuff in them. And we couldn’t block any doors.

I don’t remember how the scene shifted from the cabin to a hospital but the next thing I knew I was at an offsite for the OmmNomNom Project (so nicknamed because it eats the budget and staffing of any other project that crosses its path) with at least 4 teams of developers, trying to fit all the bits and pieces together.

But one of the business groups had decided we needed to offer a few new services: video chat, customer education, and a third I don’t remember. These were introduced to us when K, who is very pregnant both in the dream and real life, climbed up on a folding table, and built abstract sculpture of the new capabilities out of an artificial Christmas tree, Christmas tree lights, and newspaper.

The video chat problems were all tech problems – asynchronous delivery of chat and bad lagtimes would make it virtually unusable. Didn’t matter, we had to find a way to do it anyway.

While some of the dev folks tried to figure that out (and groaned and complained and I don’t blame them) we learned that the other project – customer education – was about helping our richest clients pass their high school finals or get GEDs. And the more we all objected to the very existence of this goal the more we were told “if we don’t help them, who will?”

At that point, since we were making no forward progress we stopped the meeting so I could go to my testing at the hospital. The halls were filled with coworkers and small children and I woke up shortly afterward.

Dreams: I hate ’em.

Everything you need to know about how well I slept and how I feel now can be summed up like this:

It turns out that Worf and Picard were deeply in love, but their love was unrequited in their home universe. Here, they discovered they wouldn’t be judged for their actions.

Their passion wasn’t what saved the universe — that was done when the grape/eggs were implanted into one of the characters in my comic (Marin – again – poor girl). We were all assured when she gave birth the multiverse would gain new power and we’d see a rebirth of civilization on this post-apocolyptic moon world.

But the love Picard and Worf shared was so deeply touching it was a great way to end the episode. I mean, dream.

God, I need a soda.

More crazy nightmares

Holy crap my head.

First Penn from Penn and Teller knocked on our door, came in, and started telling Nighthawk all these wild stories about getting a hamburger, and a couple other things I can’t remember. I couldn’t hear most of the conversation because I was concentrating on a cardboard box full of games (which was sitting right next to them on the couch) that I thought had a Playstation 3 game in it I wanted to show Penn. I pulled all kinds of gadgets and books and magazines out of that box but not the missing game, and just as he was leaving I remembered that all the playstation 3 games were in a box behind me.

As he left I asked him why he’d decided to visit us and he gave me a huge loving hug and said, “Because you’re you!”

I pulled out my phone to tweet about it, but as usual for my dreams I could barely read the phone, forget type. All the keys had been rearranged so the backspace key was above the letter R, there were three different kinds of cancel keys depending on what you were trying to do… It was a nightmare and I remember thinking that it was some of the worst usability I’d ever seen. I also remember thinking that this had to be a dream for the keyboard to be so bad, but my dream-self remembered that the new phone OS had just dropped and this must be the new version.

And then just when I thought I’d finally gotten the tweet written I tried to look up Penn’s Twitter handle and I couldn’t because a) I kept launching the picture-attacher accidentally and b) there were flowers growing out of my phone. Something akin to very small carnations, just big enough to block my view, were growing out of the phone. This was annoying, but somehow not unexpected.

Then I found out that Nighthawk had already tweeted about the experience for me, with pictures, which made me both happy and annoyed. He had also let Herbie and Basschica in the house. They were there to – ok I don’t know why they were there but they insisted on feeding the dogs, which Herbie had to learn how to do for some reason.

Once the dogs were fed (raw chicken is all we had, but it was in dog-sized portions) the conversation turned to what we wanted to eat. Magically my mom arrived and we all got in the car, following mom’s directions, and ended up at this old house (Victorian style) that used to sell crafts, but now sold seafood dinners, called “The crab tree” or something equally weird.

The restaurant had a large cement porch with a wooden roof, big enough to hold a couple of picnic tables and smaller bistro tables. We weren’t the only ones waiting for a table inside – there were other couples and families (all older than me but I think I was roughly 20 again) that were also waiting. After a short wait the restaurant staff gave up on seating us inside, and since it was a beautiful night they just started bringing out the food items of their choice, family style, and setting them on the table.

We had green beans in risotto, mashed cauliflower, mashed turnips, shrimp in a pasta, a different kind of shrimp with a spiny shell that was done in a garlic sauce, fried popcorn shrimp, and strange things. Strange things like live man-o-war babies (I could have my fish wrong. Round thing with a long tail, supposedly poisonous, had a shell covering one side. Maybe I invented it.) that were a bit scary to eat until my mother showed me how to pull them apart alive. (note: nothing like my mom to do such a thing.) Every table got different food so we spent a lot of time passing bowls back and forth and getting to know the folks we were sitting with.

Then things got weird again. I asked for something – or maybe they just recognized the name on our credit cards (Herbie and I were splitting the bill for father’s day) and we were ushered in this side door that looked like a closet, but had a door in the back, to see the rest of the building.

We discovered that this little house was just the tip of a much larger complex filled with science experiments being done regarding Jurassic, Cambrian, and pre-Cambrian era creatures. Even weirder, the were all kinds of robots and machines of a sentient nature in the complex, many of which appeared to be preparing for some kind of attack. It was like the TV show Sanctuary crossed with the comic Girl Genius crossed with a Discovery channel special on dinosaur-era sea creatures. Aunt G was showing us around and helping us get settled.

I knew somehow that my cousin Plantnerd was sleeping a few rooms away but I could see the shadow of someone sinister hovering over her bed wih a gun, so I sprinted through three or four doors in a hallway marked “no entry” until I reached her room. I found Plantnerd lying in bed half asleep with an IV in her arm and sugar around her lips. She’d had a sugar crash while on the tube (she lives in England) and the man at the foot of her bed had saved her and brought her back home.

Only it wasn’t really a sugar crash, it was a milk crash, because she required some kind of special sea cow milk, and the man wasn’t really a man… The best way to describe him would be take a leprechaun and cross him with a little grey alien, make him as tall as a short woman with normal eyes and a pasty face. He looked a bit like a sea creature himself.

We needed to go get something for Plantnerd but it was risky to get to and required crossing the loch in the back of the building. I didn’t even hesitate to do so, even though the only way to cross the loch was to jump from one tree root to another where they made a natural bridge down the center.

I don’t remember what I went to get. I do remember that the equipment rooms on the other side were full of robots hiding themselves so they’d be more effective if they needed to ambush the expected intruders. (I had been accepted by the system.) the was also a giant 6-tired amphibious vehicle that Aunt G showed me how to drive in case I needed it to escape.

When we returned to the loch, the water had risen and the roots were obscured. I knew that an amphibious creature that looked like a cross between the Loch Ness Monster and a rowboat lived in the water and was tame (and very smart). His name was Doodle (I think) and he very happily carried each of us across the pond. I remember being annoyed, though, because I expected to ride on his back and instead he’d only let me hold on to his neck.

Then I woke up.

The weird part of all this is how much of the loch felt familiar, like I’d seen and dreamed it before. I’ve been there before, to the loch, anyway, though the buildings and my family running things all felt new.

I slept for 11 hours last night. I’m still a little tired this morning, but it’s mostly because I’m dehydrated I think. The dream still feels like a real memory, and I’m a little afraid to go to sleep tonight for fear that I’ll land back in the same dream in time for the attack.

Now it’s time to start my day, and hope it’s less exciting.