2002-04-16 - 9:50 a.m.
Well, at least the alarm worked this morning.

I'm leaving in a couple of minutes to get my second Hepatitis B shot. This is an expensive series of shots; three of them, plus a blood test at the end to make sure the immunity took, and it costs $160 or so. The third shot won't happen for another two or four months, though, I can't remember which; I wonder how much they'll charge me to finish the series out, if I switch jobs? The company is paying for it right now.

My new alarm worked this morning; I remembered to turn the alarm function on last night. I was actually almost on time to work today. It interrupted me from another one of my bizarre dreams. I can't remember the beginning parts any longer, but it involved a whole group of people (again, none of whom seem to have been real people from my life) and I moving through a forested area where we'd once cached camping supplies, discovering that they'd been disturbed, and proceeding to this laboratory complex somewhere.

I ended up somehow in an alley between two brick apartment buildings in a run-down area in a major city somewhere. The kind of place that gets labelled "slum", with trash scattered everywhere and an empty lot across the street surrounded by chain-link fencing. There was one guy with me, a man who looked sort of like a more human-sized version of The Rock, only a couple of inches taller than me, but still muscular and tough. He was wearing jeans, and I don't recall the shirt but he had some sort of long, flowing leather jacket on, like a duster.

I watched him stick a gun with a silver barrel in the back waistband of his jeans, and I was pleading with him not to do something, I forget what. And then suddenly, I switched places, and I *was* him, yelling at this cautious female that I had to do whatever it was I was doing. And she said there might be an asshole cop somewhere close, and did I want to get in trouble? And I started yelling, "Hey, is there an Officer Asshole living around here?" and generally being loud.

No one stuck their heads out; we had the alley and the surrounding block to ourselves. People aren't stupid, they knew trouble was brewing. Sure enough, right about then three punk-types entered the alley, sneering at me.

I decided the gun might not be the best plan; I didn't really want to leave corpses lying around. I pulled a sword out of a secret pocket in my jacket -- not the long heavy two-handed type you see on the heroes in movies, just a plain, serviceable, average-length one that you could swing with either one hand or two. The punks laughed at me; they had brass knuckles and knives and stuff, and they all advanced on me at once.

The next part was really cool to dream about, but slightly gross once I'd woken up. I turned into this muscular flowing death machine, basically, dancing around them and flicking the sword-point around. A nick here, a slice there, nothing fatal or even serious, just really annoying. Then, when they didn't give up, I started aiming for their fingers. One by one, I sliced each finger off.

I left the ringleader with two fingers: his ring fingers. Don't ask me why. I hadn't finished with the others yet, but they all gave up about then and ran off, tucking their bleeding hands under their arms and screaming bloody murder.

I felt really satisfied with myself. And then the alarm went off!

Damn. I wish I really could wield a sword like that. Of course, I slightly resent the fact that every time I do something kick-ass in a dream, my subconscious says I have to do it in a male persona.