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Sunday, January 25, 2004 Well. I don't know about you, but it often seems to be the case for me that I wake up in the mornings with no memory at all of the previous night's dream activity. Not the last two mornings, though. Yesterday a.m., in particular, three dreams in a row unreeled themselves in the wee hours, one after another, the first featuring me in conversation with the 30-something daughter of an older couple I know, centered around a discussion of true love. We seemed to be coming to an understanding that promised deep, intriguing developments, but I woke up before we could wander too far down that garden path. (Grumble, grumble.) Managed to slip back into sleep, found myself in a genuinely creepy story along the lines of Signs. Woke myself up out of that one, feeling genuinely pleased to be back in my simple, austere bedroom, in my sunny writer's garret. Gradually drifted off once more, found myself back in some weird fucking place in the middle of some weird fucking situation. Jerked myself awake, hopped right up out of bed, got the day underway. Clearly, the right thing to do. And found myself feeling restless, with little real idea of how to occupy myself. Went out, picked up groceries. Got a cup of espresso and a croissant. Took some photos. Stopped in at a bakery, bought a tuna empanadilla. Did a load of laundry. Wrote email. Talked on the phone. Sat at the computer and played hearts. Passed most of the day that way. Not feeling very focussed. Until later in the afternoon, when I realized it was time for Car Talk. Which immediately made me happy. Got on the 'net, tuned it in, making me even happier. It's a good thing, being so easily pleased. This morning: another strange dream, this one set somewhere in Vermont. A version of Vermont I've never seen before, but still Vermont. Me with a bunch of people I didn't know. In a strange, creepy situation that made no sense. Jerked myself awake, hopped right up out of bed, went to the gym. Clearly, the right thing to do. A lovely, cool morning. Streets quiet, little traffic about. Sunlight showing over the tops of buildings, blue sky above. Got to the gym a few minutes before the 10 a.m. opening bell, stood out in the crisp air waiting. A 30-something mother walked by with two little boys, one 7 or 8 years old, the other 4 or 5. The younger one had long, blonde hair stuffed under a baseball cap several sizes too large so that it rode down over his face, practically covering his eyes. "Tiene pelo azul," said the 8-year-old. ("He has blue hair.") "No, no," said the younger guy happily, bouncing as he walked, little body clearly seething with joyful energy. "¡Qué tiene pelo amarillo!" ("He has yellow hair!") "No, pelo azul." "No, ¡amarillo!" Et cetera. Their mother dragged them across the street, the discussion quickly faded with distance. Blue hair. Yellow hair. That kept me smiling for a while. It's a good thing, being so easily amused. rws 3:01 PM [+] |