January 28th, 2008


Fight the fire, come on now.

I dreamed last night that I was hanging around the house with my mom and sisters. Judging by our ages and the arrangement of the house, it was anywhere from five to ten years ago.

Suddenly the house filled up with smoke, which seemd to be from someone burning food on the stove in the kitchen. It was no big deal and was quickly put out, but just as I opened the front door to ventilate the smoke out a fire truck came racing onto our block and, oddly, pulled up into the driveway of my neighbors across the street.

Firefighters started piling out of the truck (far too many to have ridden inside it, shades of a TARDIS or a clown-car) armed with pickaxes. The crowd of firefighters began filling up my front lawn, shouting at me to get out of the house. I shouted back that it was no big deal, the house really wasn't on fire at all, but they wouldn't believe me. As I got really irritated and went out onto the lawn to try and talk some sense into them, I looked back and saw that the house really was heavily belching smoke from a completely different room. That's about where the dream ended.

Odd in itself, but this morning while reading my flist I discovered this entry my firefighter friend one4k4 posted yesterday (which I hadn't read before today, honest.)
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