Had a rough night. Kept waking up every few minutes. I blame the dream–this long, wretchedly complex mess that combined the newly thunk mythology of Ed’s tribe (the rather pitiable hyena character from “Digger”) with the book I was re-reading–“Maskerade” by Pratchett–with bowling and complicated magic done by possessed young women with parcade floors.

All of it swarming with none-too-bright little pink lizards in boats.

It wasn’t a nightmare, per se, just complicated, and I kept waking up ever few minutes, grumbling, rolling over, going back to sleep, and winding up right back in the dream again, where the sanest and most normal bit seemed to be Nanny Ogg trying to orchestrate a complete revision of hyena mythology by having it re-acted out by legions of small pink lizards, in the mud, in the rain. Lightning kept striking, and the lizards were fleeing in their little boats.

Since I was contemplating the hyena mythology when I fell asleep, and had been reading Maskerade, and the lizards are bloody obvious, that was all unsurprising, but I still have no idea why the bowling alley came in. Perhaps my hindbrain is itching for the allure of the bowling alley or something.

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