Oh, I really overslept. But I had a great dream where I tracked down a fake twin of myself and beat her up until she almost disappeared. She was rubbery, like a squeaky dog toy, and really surprised when I punched her - she was well-dressed and smiled and wrinkled her nose and did a little dance when we met, and quite obviously expected to be liked. Stepford Viv. Urgh.
I woke up really happy. Hope she's gone for good. I sometimes have nightmares about her trying to steal my life and shine it up, and I can't quite explain to anyone how horrific that is. I wonder if everyone has dreams like that.
I think it's to do with all the useful chats I've had recently with friends about female characters in fiction, especially in movies, and how annoying it is that everyone identifies with the male characters and the female ones tend to be only there to interact with the men. Often the more arty and respectable the movie gets, the more irritatingly empty the women are, to the point where they just wander around looking great, but they might as well be squeaky dog toys - sometimes they are disturbed, sometimes they talk, but generally they are just there for things to bounce off them, squeee-bonk!
I must add up my tax-receipts today, hm, I'd like to do some writing instead, but it does need doing...