![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Cue "Twilight Zone" Music
May. 22nd, 2006 04:34 pmOK, I completely understand that in this big funky world we live in, occasionally odd coincidences occur. However, this one is sort of blowing my mind.
Last Friday I had an unbelievably vivid dream about the execution of Jane Grey, England's "Nine-Day Queen." The dream was so vivid, in fact, that although I'm not really a believer in the whole "past lives" thing, I could understand why someone having a dream like this would think it was a memory and not a dream. Basically, I was in the crowd watching Jane Grey get beheaded, and it was horrible because I kept hoping that someone would come and rescue her, and of course no one did. Everything was incredibly detailed, right down to the shortness of breath I was feeling because my stays were too tight. (I had on good but fairly sober clothing, the sort a middle-class merchant's daughter or wife would wear.) I woke up right before the axe came down, and then Erik asked me, "Are you all right?" (Apparently I was making whimpering noises in my sleep.) And I said, "Yes -- I was just having a bad dream." And then I rolled over and went back to sleep.
So today I go to pick up my mail, and there's a postcard for our dear friend from tf.n, oqidaun, who's over in England right now (lucky girl!). And what's on the postcard? A reproduction of Paul Delaroche's painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. Of all the postcards she could have bought at the National Gallery, that's the one she chose to send to me!
To quote Cher from Clueless: "I'm totally buggin'!"
Last Friday I had an unbelievably vivid dream about the execution of Jane Grey, England's "Nine-Day Queen." The dream was so vivid, in fact, that although I'm not really a believer in the whole "past lives" thing, I could understand why someone having a dream like this would think it was a memory and not a dream. Basically, I was in the crowd watching Jane Grey get beheaded, and it was horrible because I kept hoping that someone would come and rescue her, and of course no one did. Everything was incredibly detailed, right down to the shortness of breath I was feeling because my stays were too tight. (I had on good but fairly sober clothing, the sort a middle-class merchant's daughter or wife would wear.) I woke up right before the axe came down, and then Erik asked me, "Are you all right?" (Apparently I was making whimpering noises in my sleep.) And I said, "Yes -- I was just having a bad dream." And then I rolled over and went back to sleep.
So today I go to pick up my mail, and there's a postcard for our dear friend from tf.n, oqidaun, who's over in England right now (lucky girl!). And what's on the postcard? A reproduction of Paul Delaroche's painting, The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. Of all the postcards she could have bought at the National Gallery, that's the one she chose to send to me!
To quote Cher from Clueless: "I'm totally buggin'!"
