It's Not the First Time I've Been Called Cold-Hearted

Last night's dream was and intense, and kind of bizarre.  And my husband laughed at me and my arrogance, but I'm going to tell you anyway, because quite frankly I think there's a good story seed at the core of it- I just need to let it compost for a while.

Anyway.

In my dream I was in a large parking lot and came across a guy packing up his truck (big truck, like a moving truck.  It was teal.) after a sort of farmer's market bazaar type thing had come to an end.  He was alone, and asked for help, so even tho' I felt a little weird about it I went ahead and helped him- but I was smart enough to call Nathan and give him a description of the truck I was helping to load before I came home.

Turns out dream-paranoia was all for the best, because I totally ended up being kidnapped, drugged, and put to work in a sort of extremely high-end brothel that catered to the very rich (mostly lawyers, for some reason).  The drugs they kept in our systems removed our emotions, so we didn't feel anything, and certainly didn't care about anything.  Because of this, no one tried to escape because, as mentioned, no one cared.  Except, in my case, they'd underestimated my ability to think without emotion (this is the part where Nathan started laughing, damn him).

See, even tho' I didn't actually care about the situation I was in, I could remember not wanting to be there- so I got all coldly logical about following through on the decision I'd already made, even tho' it didn't have any sort of current emotional meaning for me.  I saw people who knew me, and they were shocked to see me working in that place, but since I wasn't upset they assumed I was okay where I was.  During one part of the dream I managed to find a cell phone and call 911, and calmly tell them what had happened to me- and I was hyper aware of the fact that they weren't likely to believe me, because I was so dispassionate about the whole thing.

Very strange.  But also, I think, a potential story seed.  Also perhaps my subconscious screaming a commentary about something?  Who knows.

Here is a sketch of a winged girl for you:

I just realized she totally doesn't have thumbs.  Crap.  This is why non-sober-doodling is not the BEST of ideas.

Tomorrow is Cooking Baking Day.  That's right, three capitals on that.  Three.  Ponder that, why don't you?