When I got home from nerd night last night, rather than check email or watch Heroes or whatever, I just went to bed and started reading. I used to read myself to sleep every night, but anymore that's maybe 50% of the time. (The other 50% of the time, I'm either fightning ninjas to sleep, or playing the musical saw to sleep.)
I'm sure you can see why this was a mistake, and what the nature and character of my dreams last night were. No Austen romance, these. To start with, I was a doctor investigating the plague, and I had the hardest time getting the zombies to sit still at the clinic and let me get their pulse and heart-rate and so forth. It was almost as if they didn't want to be cured! Later things became more stressful and along the lines of staving off the inevitable, rather than actually escaping my fate. I do recall that the roaring of the zombies in my dreams was far more bestial than I'd have thought - which I took note of even as I tried to dig my way under the back of the tent and escape in a direction from which tthe zombies weren't coming. But then, the landscape was thick with them, so ...
