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Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’

Yes, Mondays are weird.

My dream this morning started out with a giraffe in the kitchen. Granted, it was a baby giraffe I recognized immediately as a young version of Tisha, a long-necked friend from years back … but I still nudged her out the door. Finding her buddy Brutus … and he was a treasured kindred spirit for a long time … waiting outside was a real treat.

Examining the contents of my fridge, I found … What else? … carrots and cucumbers and jack fruit and acacia branches, so loaded up some buckets and headed out to share the treats.

I wasn’t alone, however, as my daughter Jennifer was with me, also much younger than she is now, and a monkey who’d brought his own bucket. Together, the three of us had a great time feeding Brutus and Tish, scratching that itchy place between their horns and being licked and nibbled in appreciation.

(Readers I worked with at the Sacto Zoo might appreciate that the monkey looked a lot like Pinot. I said it was weird … )

Mondays lately have also been annoying. Kokonet, the local ISP that takes both the “S” and the “P” out of the “I”, has been total crap all weekend and even worse this morning. Since not only my work, but also my desire are accessible only online at the moment, I’m threatening to loose a squad of testicle-munching, starved and angry versions of Pinot on those “in charge”.

Given the circumstances, I’m in no mood to post anything particularly profound today … if, in fact, I’m able to post anything … so you poor readers get weird dreams and aggravated bitching.

Sorry, ’bout that …

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Mornings are weird

WTF ... On with the show ...

Mornings are weird. Or at least my mornings are weird.

I do wake up to an amazing view of the Indian Ocean sparkling back at me the first rays of the rising sun … most certainly not what a great deal of the world sees upon opening eyes … but this can hardly be the reason I so often have the most ridiculous collection of words in my head.

This morning’s offering:

Harry Potter to Voldemort :
Your eventual demise is as plain as the nose on your face.

Huh?

Sure, I got a bit of a giggle out of that one, but I do wonder where this shit comes from.

I recall just waking from a dream in which I was packing to either move or travel with the aid of a conveyance that was some combination of very long planks attached to things much like skateboards upon which I precariously loaded cases and boxes and … oh … a couple of dogs and Helmut, our giant tortoise. What this has to do with bad jokes of computer generated images of a fictional character I have no idea.

This happens often, waking with words. Occasionally I’ll write them down. This, for example, popped out fully formed a few years ago and amused me enough to prompt a jotting:

A Sir road in on a sorrel stallion
(Or was it a Rogue on a roan?
A boy on a bay … ?
A charmer on a chestnut … ?
A girl on a gelding …?
Light wasn’t good and
a brown one is a brown one is a brown one … )
and shouted:
The devil is in the details!
Pay attention!

It has occurred to me to try to examine these bursts of whatever the hell they are for some sort of meaning or root or cause or greater significance, but end up rejecting the thought. Like a theater critic must interrupt enjoyment of a performance to note technical aspects, picking apart what’s happening in my subconscious mind smacks of unnecessary breaking of flow and I’d rather just enjoy the show, especially those that leave behind a Playbill.

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