Face of Boe

So I wrote this sonnet about Captain Jack Harkness for an English assignment and I quite like it. How can you go wrong with a poem about Doctor Who anyway? Well here you go.

I have what most men only dream to have,
Striving to achieve what they must not own.
Like petty fangirls, they obsess and crave,
Desire carved into human hearts of stone.
Where is the Doctor? He’s avoiding me
And doesn’t see how I need him to try.
The last Lord of Time, oh, doesn’t he see
When I am alone, how I long to cry?
Back then, she brought me, from death, back to life.
What lies in the darkness beyond this light?
She has spared me from fear of any knife
And I know the answer to man’s endless plight.
But I alone live as all others die,
So no one is there to watch as I cry.




So, last night, I dreamed that I met David Tennant (who plays The Doctor in Season 2 of Doctor Who, my favorite TV show), who I’ve loved and wanted to meet for quite some time now.  Here’s a picture of him:

So yeah, as I was saying, I dreamed that I met him (that’s actually the second time I’ve dreamed that I met him.  I ALSO dreamed that I met Billie Piper, who plays the character Rose.).  The important part of this is mostly just a simple observation.

You know how when you’re dreaming, your dreaming self doesn’t know it’s dreaming?  And you think the events of the dream are ACTUALLY happening?  That usually is how things go in my dreams, but in this one, I knew I was dreaming.  That’s pretty much what made this particular sleepy-time fantasy interesting.  I knew I was dreaming, and I wished I weren’t dreaming.  My dreaming self wished that my dream was reality.  It sort of ruined the encounter with David Tennant, too.  Because I knew I wasn’t really meeting him.  I was getting a fake autograph and fake answers to the questions I asked.  It would all go away as soon as I woke up.

Have you ever had one of those terrible nightmares in which you can’t wake up?  It’s the worst worst kind of dream, but no matter how hard you try, your actual self simply refuses to be woken by your dreaming self.  (I hope my referrals to “dreaming self” and “actual self” aren’t getting you confused.  You might not even be reading this right now.  You might have given up a paragraph ago.  But if you’re reading THIS, you didn’t, and I thank you for that.)  I hate those nightmares.  There’s something about dreams, you know?  A lot of our dreams are forgotten.  They simply slip from our memory and drift into the subconscious, and we never recall them again.  But most of the time, the ones we DO remember make some sort of an impact on us.  At least, that’s how it is for me.  When I remember a dream thoroughly, it tends to make an impact on me.  Like a message, or something.  I don’t know if you ever get that feeling, but I do.

What’s REALLY annoying is when you really enjoy a dream (or really hate a dream) and you wake up and get out of bed, and then you try to reenact in your mind what happened in the dream, and you just can’t.  You don’t remember it anymore, other than a little tiny sliver.  That annoys the HECK out of me.  I want to beat my head against a wall when that happens.

Anyway, just an odd and random observation of dreams that I felt like I wanted to share.  Hope you enjoyed!

I also hope that this post inspired you to watch Doctor Who.  Because that show is amazing.