Last night, I had a rather peculiar but pretty disturbing one which was essentially a cross between
The Wicker Man,
Soylent Green,
Battle Royale and
Father Ted (the latter because Dermot Morgan and Ardal O'Hanlon were the sort-of protagonists for a large proportion of the dream, only I took over at a couple of points). There was also a bit from
Day of the Triffids, but fortunately that was still a fictional film within the context of this dream, so the presence of man-eating plants was less of a worry. It certainly wasn't fun, but still, it was nowhere near as malicious as this dream I had the other night about my dissertation - the bugger is done, it's completed, it's in the past, I just wish that it wouldn't keep raising its ugly head at me in my sleep, convincing me in my more vulnerable state that I'm still writing it, with only one weekend left to go, and that all of my previous work files have been mysteriously deleted.
