Last night’s dreams were a crowded, cluttered mess of happenings and objects. They began with a leather jacket.
Someone gave me a black leather jacket as a gift. I was taken back. The gift wasn’t expected. Its style was not the style that I prefer (yeah, aren’t I the fashion plate (snort, right!)). It wasn’t the highest quality (indeed). But it was a gift. I was drilled by parents and wife to be gracious about accepting gifts. Don’t mock or deride them, but accept with gratitude.
Smiling, I accepted the jacket and began wearing it. The fit was better than expected, and I looked good. Within a few minutes, I find myself surprised that I genuinely liked the jacket. Going back to the one who’d given it to me, I thanked them with more enthusiasm.
You know what? I never saw anything of the person giving me the jacket. If I did, it’s wiped from memory.
Shifting in the way that my dreams frequently do — without a true transition — I found me and my wife in a new place. Guess what? Yeah, I was back in the military. I amused me in my dream that I was dreaming about the military again because it’s such a recurring pattern in my dreams. I also told myself in my dream, go with it. See where it goes.
My wife and I were sharing a large apartment with two other families. None of them were in the military. We each had a bedroom with a bathroom. The place was bedlam. My uniform was wrinkled, so I needed to press it but had to find the iron and board. A hundred things were going on, with people unpacking, sorting stuff, strewing it around, and also dressing and leaving for appointments.
With my uniform pressed, I went to shower. The largest bathroom had towels, toiletries and clothing strewn everywhere. It appalled me. I thought, even if they have so little regard for others ability to use the facilities, have they no sense of order and tidiness?
I considered tidying the bathroom but returned to my bedroom and discovered a clean but small bathroom. The problem with it was that windows allowed anyone to look in and watch me from multiple places. I discussed this with my wife. She thought only one vantage allowed others to look in, so I could shift and stay hidden. I pointed out an entire set of other windows where people could see me. But, I decided, screw them. Let them look if they wanted.
I showered and shaved without issue. Then I heard noises outside. Green towel wrapped around my waist, I went out to investigate. Somehow, I became disoriented and began wandering. Then I lost my towel.
Again, amusement struck me in my dream. We’re employing that cliché? Mais qui, bien sûr. Okay.
Now, I’m naked but still wet, and outside. Fortunately, this was the young version of me, when I was slender and fit.
Buses were arriving. Uniformed airmen were piling out. I kept walking around, trying to figure out where the hell my place was.
I wasn’t embarrassed. I knew what stripes I had, and the authority and respect they command. I’d learned how to wear them, and I was metaphorically wearing them while walking naked back to my place. Go ahead, I mentally encouraged the crowds and lines of airmen that I passed. Say something. I dare you. None did.
Without fanfare, I found my way and returned to my place, entered, and began dressing, which is where the dream ended.
Deflooftive (floofinition) – 1. An investigator who specializes in solving crimes and mysteries involving pets. 2. A pet who is obligated to investigate all noises, movements, foods, and others.
In use: “Aided with a video camera mounted high on the wall, the deflooftive soon learned how the cat and dog were escaping.”
Today’s song entered my stream for unknown reasons and has remained on an endless. (I suspect the word ‘high’ may be the key that let the song in.) Anyway, I need to share it with you to dislodge it. Nothing personal.
Not my particular type of music, in general, there’s nothing wrong with this song. By Tal Bachman, “She’s So High (Above Me)” (and why do I think the record company wanted the ‘Above Me’ added to shift thinking away from drugs?) came out in 1999. I don’t have any Tal Bachman music in the house and known nothing about him except that he’s Randy Bachman’s son.