Squawk

Last night, my upstairs neighbours were blaring music (just for a little while, and they knocked it off just when I turned up the tv, so I guess I can't complain). What added the element hilarity was the music. My neighbours around here (the blare-y ones, anyway) are generally all in with the hip-hop, bass-y beats that reverberate across the parking lot and bounce off the other buildings. Last night it was - wait for it - the Thriller album. It started with Billie Jean, which made me think that it was just an eighties-feelin' kinda evening, but then moved into that other song with Paul McCartney, and Why, Why, which I started singing along with absentmindedly as I folded laundry until I realised the horror.

Maybe it affected my dreams - but it was more likely the incessant coverage of avian flu, I'm thinking. (Which enrages me to no end, but maybe more about that later)

I woke up with a half-remembered dream that came back more clearly when I focused on it. Here are the highlights:

- Chickens were taking over the world. They may have been alien chickens - it wasn't entirely clear.
- People were somehow being turned into weird chicken/human zombies, with slack faces and random feathers growing out of their faces and other places.
- They communicated using eggs that travelled down the outside of people's legs, under the skin (as men in particular would not be able to lay eggs properly) and had to be cut out at the ankle. The messages were printed on the eggs in some funky sci-fi writing (so maybe they were alien chickens after all)

No more news for me.