The Dream Of The Defenestrated Dog

This is from 26 December.

It was pretty much a gathering of everybody I know. I certainly felt like EVERYONE I knew was there, but I only got to interact/get in adventures with a few people.
All the action went down in or near a huge freaky old house. It was white. On the outside it was a larger version of what I've heard described as a crumbleshack, sort of leaning, maybe in the wind, and alone in a vast rural area. I didn't see it from the outside until later on. On the inside the place was very comfortable with bright windows and open space. At least two stories. Clean. Enough room for, it would seem, EVERYONE I knew.
The first person I definitely ran into was Jesse, who alerted me to her presence with great grace and ladylikeness and we had what I remember was a really wonderful reunion (having not seen each other in a long time), although I don't remember what was said or anything. I think the main point we both drove home was how long it had been.
My conversation with Jesse happened in the basement, and across the room Rob Grieve and Chelsea Very, who I'm sure have never met, were arguing with each other over who was better. I don't think at any one thing in particular. Just who was better. Rob asked for my help a few times, saying "Alev. Come on. I'm better right??" whereon Chelsea would sharply criticise Rob for saying my name wrong.
Paul Woida was also in the basement, and his new way to greet his friends was to lift them o'er his head like the Stanley Cup, and that's how he said hello to me. He had a t-shirt with ALGERNON written on it in large friendly letters.
I then headed upstairs where someone who I believe to be Rob Campeau was shouting "KISS ME!!!" with thespian passion at various guests. I haven't seen you in a while Rob so forgive me if this is all I could dream about.
In the large magnificent kitchen, Kyle Gardiner, Marcus Engel, and Lewis Longard were cooking up a likely incredible dish that I would guess might involve a blowtorch, Sriracha, and noodles, based on the brains involved. Maybe a spicy baked pasta dish! The three of them were having quite a time. But Marcus refused to use any kitchenware that wasn't gold. Lewis sang "Hoist That Rag" by Tom Waits, which I'm not sure he's ever heard.
I hear Paul Woida shout "ALEV COME PLAY WITH THE DOG!!!" from the gigantic sitting room on the same floor. Scores of people were piled into chairs and couches having a rambunctious time, and playing with a golden retriever. I was passed a squeaky toy and this dog, whose name was apparently Rubbish, threw his retrievin eyes on me. So I threw the squeaky toy. It landed behind a big comfy chair by the window and I thought that the dog saw this. But instead he leapt through the (closed) window to give airborne chase to the squeaky toy. I ran to see what he might be landing on, because there was an immediate stir among the sitting room throng. Cries of concern for the defenestrated dog. I looked out the window and saw that the big house was precariously perched on a cliff (what another house-on-a-cliff-related dream of mine would call a grace, "a house on a grace") and our friend Rubbish had been dealt his doggy demise (probably).
Paul Woida was the first to blame me. His humongous Woida eyes dumped soggy guilt onto my Alev heart. I wished I had been the defenestrated one. But Paul agreed to go with me to search for the dog, and so did Maddy Geneau who was there also apparently.
The three of us ventured outside to where everybody was keeping their shoes. I couldn't find mine. And all the other shoes had keys and wallets in them. So I went in my red socks to search for this dog with my two friends who have never met in real life. But we were embarrassed by the dog's name, and after shouting 'Rubbish' a few times with no success we decided to shout something else. I started shouting "ALGERNON," and my friends Paul and Maddy followed, sort of. Paul shouted "ALGERNAN" and Maddy shouted "ALGERNIN" but after a great deal of shouting, the dog, Rubbish/Algernon/an/in, returned completely unharmed, but with no squeaky toy.

Garburator Man

The thick soupy fog that settled last night left frost on everything this morning. It makes me wish I had some thick foggy soup around, but I don't really. Not the kind that I imagine would really hit the spot on this kind of grey day.
The birch trees have frost hanging off their wintry tendrils and they look like spooky old ladies telling stories, or chasing their rosy grandchildren around with their teeth out. All the other deciduous trees are wizards shouting at the sky trying to make snow fall on me. It's working a tiny bit. No lightning strikes or avalanches. A girl once told me you can spell it Lightening. But that's something else I'm pretty sure.
Things are crispier outside. I feel like anything I touch will break. It looks like I could even put a crack in the air, so I'd better be careful. Everything's dense, but in a thin way.

A fairly soused older man boarded the train earlier. He had found his way into an old Sun-Ice type coat and had maybe had it on since Halloween. If you take a lid from a big casserole dish and put it on the counter, watch it warble and whinge; that's how this guy stood on the train. His mouth was a garburator. It was because of this that a young woman sitting in front of me couldn't quite hear what he said to her in his drag-a-bike-under-a-car voice. GHKJTGKJTKSGHK, he garbled. She offered her seat to him. I think that's what he was getting at. He proceeded to creak his neck up at two men who were talking about work. I'M A COP, he offered. One of the men, the very tall one, smiled and thanked him for his service to the community.
Over the next ten or so minutes the garburator man made several attempts at standing up again, each time hurling itchy broken threats at a gaggle of teens by the door. If things really did break when I touched them, I might have given the garburator man a decisive poke. The very tall man intervened.
It was at this point that, I hope, the Alev from an alternate reality stood up and took matters into his own hands. His hand would have gently and ethereally alighted upon Garb's shoulder and suggested in strangely elegant - but not obscure - terms, that the pair of them should disembark. Alternate Alev (who might have a goatee) would, by his behaviour, suggest to Garb that he was not of this earth. He would give the impression that he had never before worn shoes, and would look about the train in fleeting fascination with its various parts. Somewhere between the Help button and the door, Alternate Alev would bring Garb to ask if he was God, to which Alternate Alev would reply that he was quite a bit smaller.
But the tall man's friend pushed the Help button and things were resolved in a more earthbound way.
The silence that followed was exactly like the conditions outside. You could cut the tension with a knife. Well not the tension, but the thing that was tense. You know the car of the train. Well the people in it. You could --
The silence that followed was exactly like the conditions outside. But without scary grannies and wizards.