I think I need to have a good chat with my subconscious

For the past week, I seem to be in the grip of some strange free-floating anxiety. I'm not sleeping terribly well, I keep having dreams about unpleasant things happening, and relatively minor things seem to be causing me more stress than they normally would.

At first I was attributing this to the unusual phenomenon of *not* having a huge imminent deadline hanging over my head at work. (Huge imminent deadlines focus the mind wonderfully. Fortunately, I'll have another coming along sooner or later.) That might be part of it, but I suspect there's something more: It might be sublimated anxiety about the increasingly likelihood that we'll actually be buying a house soon, or it might be sublimated stress/guilt about the holidays. Whatever it is, it's clearly sublimated, because I have no idea what it is.

Dear subconscious: If you're trying to send a message, try a telegram.

Or maybe it's just that it's dark in the morning when I get up, and dark in the evening when I come home, and I was sick with a terrible cold for half of last week, and the ensuing congestion is still interfering a bit with my exercising and, you know, breathing, properly. One shouldn't overthink these things.

(no subject)

Doctor Who fans who are ignorant of the slashfic world are probably utterly unaware of what they do to my brain when they casually toss around phrases like "Troughton/Dalek".

Somebody's probably written it.

Audio Review: Doctor Who: Plague of the Daleks

( Would probably have been better without the Daleks )