lies a copy of platoon, nestled gently next to a copy of roman holiday. one of these movies belongs to mr. monkey, one of them to me. i give you one guess.
odd then, that it was me who woke up screaming and sobbing in the middle of the night because the germans (sorry, germans, but you did do it twice already, and although i am sure you are very sorry and it will never happen again, i cannot be held responsible for what my subconscious cooks up) were bombing us and huge german cylon-like creatures with machine guns were stomping through the burning ruins and my cousin, my uncle and my husband were shortly going to be made into mincemeat, because there was no hope in hell they could survive the odds, but they were still going out there to fight for our freedom*.
i can honestly say i have no recollection of a dream that horrible and that real (ok, excepting the cylons, though god knows what with german engineering and all...) in the immediately recollectable past.
i ended up bawling about men's bloodthirstiness and the losses that women face and the horribleness of it all, and then this morning i had a very very bad headache.
can i please have my james bond dreams back?
*i do believe i need to stop watching american movies, because puh-leez! that whole "freedom with a capital F" and the flag gently waving in the background, and the sentimental music and all? i do not think that the nausea can be attributable to the migraine alone, if you know what i mean: it's like i ate george w bush for lunch and am burping up jingoism. blech!