I dreamt about zombies last night.

This isn’t a rarity. One every two or three months I’ll have an extremely vivid zombie dream, and it isn’t simply because I’m inclined to watch more than my fair share of living dead movies - and last night was no exception, as I watched the first Resident Evil, which was good until they introduced the slimy monster guy.

This recurring dream - and I refuse to call it a nightmare, because somehow it doesn’t feel like one - involves me, a group of people who I have never seen before, and a world overrun by zombies. Consider the most recent remake of Dawn of the Dead, where the zombies can run, are very strong, and are generally not as stupid as they usually are made to be as the basis for this.

I never die in these dreams. I am usually leading a group of people to some semblance of safety; a few months ago, we were trying to reach a loft space in a large mansion by the side of a lake, for example.

The interesting part of these dreams is that it always somehow parallels something going on in my life at the time, and is usually work-related. Some time ago I was stressed out over the fact that I felt myself to be the minion of the marketing team whose ideas and suggestions always seemed to be overlooked by the higher-ups. This was echoed in the dream; I was doing my damnedest to get the group I was leading to safety, but for some reason no one acknowledged me as I tried to maneuver an extremely heavy ladder towards the loft we were trying to reach.

I’m curious as to the basis for these dreams, not so much because of the parallel between the actions in the dream and what’s going on at the office, because that’s rather obvious, but because of the prevalence of the living dead. The most common interpretation I’ve found of zombie dreams includes the subject as a zombie himself. Dream-Meanings.org says,

To see or dream that you are a zombie, suggests that you are physically and/or emotionally detached from people and situations that are currently surrounding you. You are feeling out of touch.

Alternatively, it may indicate that you are feeling dead inside and are simply going through the motions of daily living.

This is decidedly not the case with me. Apart from randomly being stressed out about something, I’m generally happy with my life and everything in it. I have a great home life, and despite somewhat tumultuous periods - perfectly normal, I’ve heard - I do love my job.

Anyway, the point of all this is that, in last night’s dream, there was a first-time experience: I chopped off the arm of one of my company’s software engineers. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been feeling overwhelmed lately with the big launch and all (in this dream, there were far more zombies than usual - another parallel, methinks). But I have no ill well towards the guy. In fact, I thought it to be rather amusing.

The Brits are arriving tomorrow afternoon, and I am well excited. Unfortunately, Murphy’s law had it in for me and decided to push our huge announcement(s) at work to, you guessed it, a week from today, which means that the majority of the next seven days will be spent at the office rather than using up my vacation days to spend time with them.

That being said, the craziness going on at work is enormously (dare I say it?) gratifying, despite some serious to-do lists. With the departure of our creative director, I’ve found myself the sole designer of many pieces of collateral, which means entertaining myself with Photoshop tricks and scrounging through various repositories of stock photography. Honestly, I often wonder why I didn’t do graphic design at college; it’s always been a habit/passion of mine. Anyway, things are turning out very nicely, my to-do list is growing steadily smaller, and the light can be seen at the end of the tunnel. Plus, the icing on the cake was seeing a case study I wrote some months ago published in an industry magazine this week. I know my mother will be so proud.

Because of everything, I’ve decided to forgo sleep for the foreseeable future in exchange for getting my stuff done at work during the day and playing with the Brits at night. Atlantic City is still definitely in the cards, as is spending quite a bit of time in New York. I hear the Easter parade is quite a trip, and the Brits mentioned wanting to see a show or two while they’re here.

I am officially not bothered by the fact that I’m still in the office at 7PM. This could be because I know I have a bathroom and a kitchen to clean when I get home, and who really looks forward to that kind of thing?

I started smoking on my eighteenth birthday because, well, I thought I looked cool. My forays into the smoking world expanded upon reaching St Andrews where, my first year, a good 30 to 40 percent of the students/population smoked on a regular basis. I figured I would quit after graduating … didn’t happen. I decided to quit when I moved to New Jersey … didn’t happen. I was really going to stop when they passed the smoking ban … didn’t happen, and I froze my ass off on a regular basis.

Now, though, I got myself a prescription for Chantix. I know, I know, many of you will think that’s the lazy man’s way out, taking a prescription instead of using self control to quit, but as many of you know, self control isn’t always my strong point where habits are concerned. Basically, Chantix blocks the receptors in the brain that usually suck up all the nicotine … so you can smoke and smoke and it’ll do nothing for you until eventually you realize it’s hopeless and quit.

Of course, I’m not one for remembering to take pills on a regular basis either, but Chantix really seems to work when I remember to pop one. In fact, every time I take it - and they say you’re meant to keep smoking while you’re quitting, which is how I got sold on the idea - the cigarettes I have a) taste awful, and b) make me feel nauseous. So if I’m able to maintain the daily pill schedule, I think I’d definitely be an ex-smoker within a few weeks.

Anyway, I was perusing the site of the 2008 Bloggies (think the Oscars for bloggers) and made my way over to the “Best Writing of a Weblog” category, where I found the winner, Confessions of a Pioneer Woman. And - would ya look at that - I was thoroughly horrified-slash-amused (terrible, I know, but I can’t help it) by the first post I saw. Little kids aren’t as oblivious as they seem.

Finally, I did the math: if I were to quit smoking, which I fully intend to do soon (though after the Brits leave - Becks is my smoking buddy, and it would be too hard to give that up while she’s here), the cost savings per month would amount to half of a car payment. That’s a good incentive right there.

Yes, I bought a car this weekend, and it’s a beaut. Wait for pictures, ‘cos you know they’re comin’.

As gas prices near an altogether appalling $4 per gallon, Meg and I have both decided that it’s time to look for new cars.  My current one, a ‘99 Ford Escort ZX2, was intended to last me no more than a year as kind of a ‘rebound’ vehicle after my Acura Integra was stolen back in 2006, but clearly that one-year mark has come and gone and I’ve still got it.  And it’s slowly dying, piece by piece.  It still runs, mind you, but I really do think it’s time to start driving a reliable, warrantied vehicle that I’m proud of, not this ghetto-esque thing that I bought for two grand and have since shoveled in another two in upkeep.

Meg’s car is a hand-me-down from her brother, who is stationed in Hawaii currently and has no need for a vehicle.  Unfortunately, the Kia had pretty much been run into the ground when he owned it, and now Meg keeps waking up to new problems.

So it’s just time.  I am 98% sure that I’m going to get a “galaxy gray” Mazda3 Grand Touring, complete with leather seats, a Bose soundsystem (*drools*), keyless entry, alarm system, and all that fun stuff.  Those things run about $24k new, but you can find some pretty sweet deals if you go pre-owned, so I’ll probably end up doing that.

Meg, meanwhile, took it upon herself to research some cars last night, and just to give you a sample of the list, she thinks she’d be happy with a Mazda RX-8, a Porsche Boxter, a Jeep Wrangler, an Audi TT, and a Nissan 350z.  Can you tell she’s quite the sporty person, not to mention one with rather expensive taste?  She would have probably bought the RX-8 already were she not stressing over the low gas mileage … but it is a very pretty car.

My dreams of an Acura TL will be put on the back burner for now.  Who really wants to be paying a load of money per month for a car loan during a recession?  Not I.

I felt the same way with the series finale of Friends … the series finale of Sex and the City … and now I have to feel empty with the loss of my current favorite program, The L Word. Yes, ladies, our favorite group of Los Angeles lesbians is breaking up after six seasons, Showtime says. Ilene Chaiken, L Word creator, is in the process of creating eight final episodes to wrap up the series … which in and of itself is distressing because every other season has twelve or thirteen episodes, but Chaiken seems to think that everything can be “wrapped up” in eight episodes. Yeah, we’ll see.

Either way, it’ll be a sad ‘n empty Sunday night for me at the end of this.

Thanks for the tip, Shazzer.