My dad once told me when I was little that we had dreams about whatever we were thinking about before we fell asleep. When I was little I went to extreme care to only think about nice sugary things before I slept as to prevent nightmares. Somewhere along the line I must have forgotten this bit of wisdom. So now I'm going to elaborate on it.
Don't think about Doctor Who as you are falling asleep. It is just not a good idea.
I know what you are thinking.
1. Madison, isn't that a show for twelve year olds.
2. It is a pretty sweet cuddly story. Why would the girl who habitually watches a blood curdling murder mystery before bed be telling us to avoid Doctor Who before bed? I mean it is about a cute guy who travels with a cute girls in a blue box fighting aliens that look suspisouly like rubbish bins.
But you know what ssshhhh.
Last night I couldn't sleep. But I was trying to force myself.
So I began to think of all the ways I would approach trying to identify a corpse. Granted the only knowledge I have to this is stuff I have gathered from various plot points of a varety of murder mystery shows. I have no actual real knowledge of identifying a body. But I did come up with several things that work in the movies. So if I were ever in a fictional world and had to identify a body then I would be set.
Then as I was drifting off I thought about Doctor Who. More specifically I was thinking about how no one likes Martha and how unfair that is. And how I think I would like to be when I grow up. But how my mom says I can't be Martha because she isn't cynical.
Then remembered how I admired Martha's willingness to blow up the earth if it meant preventing the rubbish-bin aliens of using the planet for their diabolical ends.
As I said, I admire this. My sister thought it was wrong.
That must have been the last thought I had before drifting off. Because I had a nightmare that these horrible aliens, which did not look like rubbish bins so much Dementors from Harry Potter had taken over the planet.
They were sucking souls left and right, torturing, and doing sick experiments.
And no one could kill them. There was no stopping the awful carnage these horrible beings were inflicting on my planet.
There were a small band of us resisting. We realized that the only resource that we had left against these creatures were atom bombs.
Which would wipe out humanity in the targeted area, the living would envy the dead, and we had no idea if it would even have any effect on the Dementor-like-aliens.
David Tennant did not make a timely appearance to help us solve this conundrum. Nor did Matt Smith or Christopher Eccleston.
That's right. They all left earth to rot. And me to make the impossible choice. Jerks. I don't think I will ever forgive them.
The choice fell on me. Did we use the atom bomb in a gamble or not?
I remember thinking "I have spent my career calling for disarmament and now I am contemplating using them. Willing to sacrifice civilians on a gamble."
Apparently in this nightmare I had had an impressive career up to the disaster of the alien invasion. So it wasn't all bad.
But then I decided that the living already envied the dead with these aliens running things. And we had to try something.
So my little band and I sent the bombs off and then had to wait to hear if it had helped anything or just caused more death and destruction.
I was so shaken when I woke up. But as I settled down I had to wonder about my sick mind. I had thought about identifying a body and was fine. But Doctor Who gave me nightmares.
I was putting the kids to bed tonight after the end of a 13ish hour day. I had just read three Tilly Stories (I'm pretty sure it was at least the fifth time I had read one of them, and probably the third time I had read the other two today.)