I had a whole fuckload of nightmares last night that if I were a certain type of writer who took her ideas from dreams as opposed to the crap that whispers at me when I'm awake would probably make for several useful stories. Instead it was just a crappy night's sleep filled with witches, alien toys, malfunctioning spacecraft, a ruined manshion with a library filled with books from the 50s, Versaille filled with fetid swimming pools, one of my childhood best friends and a tree that grew both apples and raspberries that I was very careful not to eat from lest I be stuck there.
Ugh.
Ugh.