I dreamt it was raining ball point pen refills last night, and certain colors were valuable. the greens and reds were worth gaqthering in a basket, but the blacks and blues were worthless, and tossed into a disposal pot. (I don’t know why they weren’t kept for use in pens.) I want a pot like that in waking life…you toss waste in (its opening was minute, only able to fit something about the size of a penny in… but that’s workable) and it gets shunted to some sort of recycling plant. it kept a tally of what you put in, but there was no compensation for it…just for record keeping. The rain wasn’t dangerous, like the razors… more annoying. A regular umbrella deflected the pinging metal tubes. collecting the refills was tougher in the dream… no colored pegs to tell what ink was inside. they had to be tested on a piece of paper, but it was worth the while. a large number of people were harvesting them in large baskets, strapped over the shoulder.

I wonder how much stuff gets polka-dotted in that world. I figure the points have to hit a surface sometime. not really an issue at the time.

“that’s my baby” is on… it’s the llama one! it’s one I’ve not seen… very nifty to watch a squad of them to run. If you want to tune in to animal planet online, they have a weekly one hour radio show, too. Lots of stuff in archive, too. at least 25 hours or so. The baby is a crazy cute thing! like a tortie-llama.. almost checkered.

neato interactive poem tag, and the project is growing like crazy

yikes… where’d the morning go? see you tonight, dear journal. I have to get to work.