…from a deep sleep and feel like you were “visited”? Not probed, freaks. Just visited.
Last night’s dream was a veritable who’s who from my past: friends, family, lovers, teachers & children. I was on the tracks where my accident happened; at the playground where I grew up swinging and climbing; at the kitchen table on Crawford Street… From what I remember, I saw just about everyone.
Perhaps my brain performed a data dump of sorts. Clearing out some of the old to make way for the new. It’s funny, but I know that thoughtstuff remains, often in the deep recesses of gray matter. Within the folds of mind, memories dangle and dance, waiting to be accessed.
When I woke up, I did that thing—y’know, where you just lay still for what feels like forever—trying to piece together the fragments of my awareness so I can begin the day.
It’s crazy how my mind plays tricks on me. Does it all the time. Well, maybe I pull some cerebral pranks myself; for the most part, however, I always feel like I’m the one trying to decipher codes. Not everyone has an agenda. Especially not my dreams. I need to poke my brain with a q-tip before bed each night and tell it, “Stick to sex, money, and baseball.” All safe and harmless.
Of course, there was that time I dreamt of having sex with a stack of newspapers. The business section, as I recall. I think that was just my subconscious acting out my desire to fuck the financial industry, in retaliation for so very thoroughly fucking me so often.
Wait, no. It wasn’t the business section. It was the puzzle page. No, no, no… Sex doesn’t confuse me. I think it represented my love affair with words. You don’t need to know about the reach-around from the sudoku…
Thanks for reading. Now wake up, drink your coffee, and have a friggin’ good day.
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