Last night I had a mass-disaster science fiction dream - it was Cloverfield meets 28 Days Later, with some goddamned 9/11 thrown in for extra heart-thumping. I would have been exhilarated at my brain's mash-up power, if it weren't so skull-fuckingly terrifying to lose Sarafina in a crowd of screaming, fleeing Torontonians being relentlessly attacked by wave after wave of dog-like zombies. Natalie Portman was there, too, in a supporting role; wondering aloud (though always with that smug "I'm wise beyond my years" look on her face) why she wasn't an "it" girl any more. Oh brain.

Sometimes it takes my feelings a while to catch up with me. I feel like I'm a step behind a lot of the time. Like, I can go out and do something I really enjoy but not really notice how happy I was until a couple of hours later. This makes me feel strange and backward, and sometimes confuses folk. But when the response catches up with the memories, everything tingles with harmony. It's a good feeling.

It sort of snuck up on me, but I'm rather looking forward to Prince Caspian. It's such a thankless book. I liked Lion well enough under the circumstances though barely enough overall, and I don't like PC as a book very much at all - such a cliché of a sequel. The flick, though... I enjoy rooting for an underdog, is all. It's why I like Willow. (That, and the midgets.)

(Oooh... Warwick Davis is even playing Nikabrik. That's bloody synergy, that is.)

Landscapes are opening up to me, slowly, like a new story is forming at the base of my spine. All the old things are done - I've finished two scripts in my entire life. I discovered that rather bluntly recently when I decided to do away with a bunch of hardcopies of scripts I wrote when I was a teenager - I scanned everything, and made PDFs, and then realized that really, I don't achieve much. It's okay. Something has ended; something new is starting. The new thing will be better than the old thing. This is what we do.