Dream A Little Dream

After the enormously long Docklands Walk (documented well enough on Ed's Flickr for me not to have to explain I went to bed about 9.30 last night, due to sheer exhaustion, not to mention tea withdrawl.

Odd dreams. About space alien conspiracy theories. Kinda like that episode of Star Trek, TNG, there were these evil aliens who had come to earth and were trying to subvert society by getting everyone hooked to High Energy Drinks and their videogames. Somehow they were feeding off the energy people were exerting on both, like emotional vampires.

The only people who were not falling for it were me and my Jungian shadow/boyfriend, Kurt Cobain. (It's strange, how, in dreams, you can be with someone, and *be* someone at the same time. The Companion/Shadow figure in dreams.) I was concerned, reading reports about the perilous world economy crises the aliens were precipitating in financial papers; Kurt was too depressed to do anything but lie around in bed strumming our guitars.

Then the aliens decided that they were going to do a massive interweb broadcast of reclusive Kurt's first comeback performance in years, in order to get him "on side". I/he went to do the broadcast, and it was all quite Dr. Who, half technology, half telepathy, and me/him standing there in our pyjamas.

Started to perform, and there was a MASSIVE surge of energy - *negative* energy, that kind of depressive heartbreak/hatred/self loathing that fuels songwriting (and performance) when you know it's good. Look down, and the aliens are writhing on the floor in agony, they have absorbed all the negative mental energy/depression and it's killing them.

But at the same time, I feel free, I feel my spirits lifted, I feel *HAPPY*... the depression, the Black Dog is just *gone*. I've saved the world by killing the evil aliens, and also lifted the mental illness that has been the bane of my entire adult life. The end.