The problem with using your brain is that it sometimes uses you back.

I have had the craziest effing morning, which I suppose actually began last night. As I was drinking wine and watching episodes of Dollhouse (last night, not this morning; I am not that much of a wino), I heard some rustling noises that sounded uncomfortably close - as in, inside and not outside where all unknown movement belongs. I figured it might be Sasha the puppy scratching at the door, but I also figured it might be something creepy. So I threw everything within reach at the plastic shopping bag full of clothes sitting near the door where the sound came from. I didn't think the clothes had come alive, just that perhaps something had crawled into the bag.
I didn't hear anything else, so I forgot about it and went to sleep. South Africa, or at least my backyard here, is full of unidentifiable animal-type noises at night (I swear a robot cricket lives out there), but nothing so far has ever shown itself or bitten me in my sleep, so I wasn't really worried.


While I slept, I dreamed that I visited Neil Gaiman's house for some unknown reason. It was a dream I couldn't wake up from for hours - I kept having recurring versions of it and dreaming that I'd woke up. This isn't particularly noteworthy in its own right, except for having surreal dreams of the kind where your sense of reality really calls itself into question always leave me feeling shaken the next morning, and it set the stage for the next weird event.
I eventually pried myself out of bed and got my numb limbs moving enough to turn on my laptop and check the time on my cell phone. Here's the funny thing: the time on each didn't match. I checked my watch: it agreed with my laptop but not my cell phone.
Is it the end of Daylight Savings time? Does South Africa keep DST? The answer was no to both questions according to the internet, and my cheap-ass watch would have had to turn sentient for it to set itself back anyhow.
Now, I was pinching myself repeatedly and thinking I was still dreaming. I can feel pain in dreams, so the pinching was kind of pointless though.
I hadn't given much thought to it, but not knowing what time it is - not just forgetting your watch for a day, but not actually being able to establish what time it actually is - can play considerable havoc with your sense of reality. I know my cell phone's clock has been right until this weekend at least, and it was on Western European time (GMT +1). That's what the nice Dutch people on the KLM flight from Amsterdam to Joburg said both cities were in. So why, when I checked online this morning, did I discover that South Africa is actually GMT +2 and that my cell phone is suddenly behind an hour on the same time zone it's been since I got here?
I got up to do the dishes, which are very mundane and real (I never dream about them), and noticed that the wall, near the ceiling, by my door had... uh... grown a new decoration since last I'd bothered to look in that corner. It looked just like the black rubber stoppers used to plug up the sink, and I wondered why it had been hanging there all this time, until a second glance showed me that it had legs. Lots and lots of tiny legs.

I looked more closely (but not too closely) and saw that it was a curled-up millipede, and realized that I'd found my creepy rustling culprit from last night. At least, that's what I choose to believe, since I don't want to think about another creepy hiding out here somewhere.
I'm not usually super-squeamish about taking out creepy crawlies but I had to try several times before I actually got the courage to take a swing at this one. Because it's me, I took a photo of the thing before I hit it (and after), so you might be able to see what I am talking about when I eventually post it. The bug was maybe 4 inches long and half an inch thick. Definitely the biggest creepy I've ever seen.
Either it was sleeping or it was already dead, though, because when I whacked it it fell to the ground in two pieces. Then I whacked it some more. The housekeeper came running to see what the shouting was all about - um, I guess that was me, shouting in fear as I swung towards the ball of curled-up legs. So many legs....
Well, she laughed at me and got a dustpan and broom, and now I'm drinking coffee somewhat comfortably. I just hope there's nothing underneath the couch behind me...

There's no moral to this story, except for that I might be going crazy. I think I need a vacation. I hear Senegal is nice this time of year....